Seriously Messed Up Men
by Leader of the Penguins
Summary: Secret cross-dresser. Alcoholic. Painting addict. Scared of everything. Multiple personalities. Paranoid wreck. Haunted by a dead hamster. Captain Smith possibly assembled the most messed-up crew in history. He'd better hope nothing serious happens on Titanic's maiden voyage. Yeah, dream on pal. I think random is a bit of an understatement here.
1. Chapter One

**AUTHOR'S NOTES - _First of all, I mean absolutely no disrespect to the real officers of the Titanic, the following story is all in a bit of fun. I wanted to explore what would happen when the time comes that the ship hits the iceberg, but the officers were too damaged and twisted to deal with it. I have no idea if the concept of painting by numbers was around in 1912, I wanted something totally random for Lightoller (My personal favourite officer!). I also have no idea if people kept hamsters as pets back then, I'm guessing not. But if the officers are twisted then I might twist reality slightly :)_**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

"Have you seen these kits?" Second Officer Lightoller asked his fellow officers for the twentieth time _this week_, brandishing a large box with the image of an unfinished painting of a bouquet on the front. "Painting by numbers! It's genius, you can't go wrong!"

Lightoller stared at the box proudly, excited to start yet another work of 'art' for his extensive collection. You see, there was an incident when Lightoller was fourteen, where he was made to paint every single day until he got better at it. He never did, and as a result, he has manically produced these pictures in the hope of one day reaching those high standards he never did back in those days.

First Officer Murdoch scoffed as he slipped some whiskey into his morning coffee. It was really Lightoller's fault Murdoch had crossed the line into alcoholism, what with all those paintings, and then having to hear about them, _every single day_. It would have been enough to make anyone drink away the pain of having to listen to him go on and on and on.

"Christ, Lights," Murdoch began, taking a swig of his flask before pouring the rest in the cup. "The next time I hear about one of your goddamn paintings, I'm going to beat you over the head with it!"

"Easy Will," Four Officer Boxhall said soothingly. "You know Andares hates negativity and violence."

"Oh God, not Andares again!" Moaned Chief Officer Wilde. "This multiple personality thing Boxhall has is really bunching my knickers!"

Boxhall was a lonely child, preferring to sit alone in his room and read countless books. As a result, he created several imaginary companions, who then fused together to become one with Boxhall after he was accidentally smacked on the head with a crow bar and knocked unconscious for a week.

"Um, you don't wear knickers ..." Lightoller said quietly, looking at Wilde strangely, before laying out the paint pots and brush on the table the officers were gathered around.

"He has a corset, I seen it in his room," Sixth Officer Moody whispered, looking around. Unknown to the other officers, Moody was haunted by the spirit of a black hamster named Bloomer, who met an unfortunate end several years ago when Moody didn't notice him on the sofa and sat on him full force. Traumatised by the incident, and the fact that he had to peel the flattened hamster off of his backside, Moody is now convinced that Bloomer's spirit is after him.

Wilde's corset could be explained by him being utterly convinced that he is a woman in a man's body, and therefore man's clothing. Whenever he can, he likes to get into his corset and his mother's old ball gown, and dance in front of the mirror. It was rumoured that on a previous ship, Wilde was applying make-up in his quarters when the ship's captain walked in.

"That's my mother's ... I honestly don't know how it got muddled up in there ..." Wilde muttered unconvincingly, as the officers were now staring at him with great interest and confusion.

"Jos- Andares," Third Officer Pitman began, looking fearful, "Please don't make him mad!"

Pitman feared confrontation. And Murdoch. And stamps. And pretty much everything in sight. Why, he still has nightmares about the time a bird narrowly avoided doing the toilet on his head. To this day, he runs for cover if a bird so much as swoops near him.

Fifth Officer Lowe nudged Pitman, and whispered hurriedly into his ear. "He's going to get you for that! And then he's going to come after us all!"

Lowe has a terrible case of paranoia. He tried so hard to hide it, but the officers were kind enough to make allowances for it, especially Boxhall's alter ego Dr Rosenbaum, who thought of himself as a therapist of sorts. It's so bad that Lowe has to share his quarters with Moody, just so he can feel safe at night.

"Ah, shit! You made me go outside the line!" Lightoller moaned, staring at his 'ruined' bouquet painting. He looked mournfully at the small violet smear that overlapped onto an area for fuschia. "I'll have to bin this and get another one ..."

Lightoller scrunched up the sheet of card and threw it into the bin, before sulking off to his quarters for one of the several kits that lay there. Murdoch burst into a fit of laughter, pointing at a disheartened Lightoller, and then to the bin where the unfinished painting now lay.

"Now, laughing at other's misfortunes is not very nice, is it?" Boxhall began, trying to prise Murdoch's spiked coffee away from him. "Andares feels that if Charles was to assume he was being mocked, then it would further damage his self-image."

Murdoch stared blankly at Boxhall. "See, thing thing is, I don't care about those pictures!"

Boxhall's face contorted slightly, before bellowing, "YO! DAT'S NOT RIGHT! SUPPORT YOUR FELLOW MAN!"

"No, not Big J ..." Moody whined into his coffee.

By this stage, Pitman had ducked under the table, Boxhall's loud voice startling him. He was huddled by Wilde's legs, where he could clearly see pantyhose instead of black socks. He shuffled on his backside over to Moody, and clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes tight shut.

"Herb's under the table again," Wilde concluded, getting up for another coffee. "This is going to be a long day."

The same thing had happened yesterday, with Pitman hiding under the table after Lightoller threw a brush across the room in frustration. It took Wilde, Moody and Lowe four hours to convince him that he was safe to come out. The jeers and insults from Murdoch, who was drinking cups of straight vodka meant that Pitman was near enough reduced to tears.

"We need to get him out before the Captain comes in! Or he'll fire us all!" Lowe cried, dropping to the floor and tugging at Pitman, who refused to move, shoving his colleague away.

"He won't fire us," Moody reasoned, before turning pale and sweaty. He could feel Bloomer's presence, and decided to leave before the hamster could take his hold over Moody. "Got to go!"

Moody knocked his chair over in his haste to run out of the Mess Hall, nearly steamrollering Lightoller out of the way, carrying a new kit. This time, it was a ball of yarn next to a lamp.

"This time ..." Lightoller muttered, setting out his kit as before and proceding to paint with great care.

"See if you mess it up this time," Murdoch began, leaning back on his chair and finishing his coffee/whiskey. "I'm going to paint you!"

"Shut up, you're putting me off!" Lightoller barked, painting very carefully using a navy blue colour.

"Enough of da hate, bro!" Boxhall said calmly. "When da Captain comes in later, how about we be happy?"

"Speak for yourself," Wilde said as he sat back down. "You're looking right miserable."

Boxhall nodded, before closing his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, man."

"Look, it'll be a quick meeting, we set sail in a couple of hours!" Wilde insisted, as Boxhall opened his eyes and stared around the room.

"Ach, aye, I ken whit ye mean," Boxhall agreed in a Scottish accent, which angered Murdoch greatly.

"No, no, no, no, no! For the last time, you're not bloody Scottish!" Murdoch slammed his coffee cup onto the table with a loud crash that made Pitman scramble from underneath and scurry over to the corner of the hall. "Let me tell you this, I come from a long, long, long line of Scots! I'm from Dalbeattie, a Scottish town! I am Scottish, you are English! And an idiot!"

"Will that's mean!" Lowe sounded horrified. "You're going to get us into trouble!"

"Don't be such a pansy!" Murdoch jeered, throwing his cup over to Pitman, where it smashed in front of him.

"Help me!" Pitman cried, backing further into the corner, shaking with fear.

Wilde buried his head in his hands, praying that whatever joke the captain was playing by employing him with buffoons as colleagues would be over soon. Sadly for him, it was for real, and it wasn't going to get any better.

Lightoller didn't pay any attention to what was going on around him, trying to carefully paint the lampshade a dark beige colour. He was unaware of Boxhall watching with mild fascination, the only officer to take any interest in his paintings whatsoever.

Murdoch poured himself another coffee, spiking it with yet another flask of whiskey. He looked over at Pitman, and staggered drunkenly over to the cowering officer. He handed Pitman the half-full flask, saying "Drink it, cos you'll fucking need it."

Pitman cautiously took it as Murdoch staggered back to the table and slumped over his chair. sniffing the whisky, Pitman finished it in two gulps, and pulled himself up. He tip toed back to the table, carefully placing the flask near Murdoch before scampering to where he was sitting earlier.

Moody had appeared once more, with bloodshot eyes and a large scratch on his left cheek. His hands trembled as he sat back at the table, refusing to make any eye contact with his colleagues. There was blood visible under his fingernails, which he noticed and subsequently hid fromview.

Lowe was staring intently at is coffee, trying not to get involved with anything happening around him. He swirled his spoon around, watching the miniature whirpool that was forming in the cup.

The silence was broken several minutes later by the sound of footsteps. Captain Smith appeared in the mess hall and looked at the officers before him. Not one of them looked very happy, aside from Lightoller, who was making good progress with his painting, Only Murdoch acknowledged his arrival by a squint salute, near enough poking himself in the eye.

"This is going to be a long voyage," Smith sighed, preparing himself mentally to address his officers. "Here we go."


	2. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

Murdoch, Wilde and Lightoller were assembled at the bridge, alongside the Captain and Mr Andrews, the master shipbuilder. The five of them were locked in a discussion about the mysterious scratch on Moody's cheek, in addition to the various bruises and cuts that were appearing on his body. Mind you, if Boxhall hadn't accidentally walked in on Moody while he was naked last night, the bruises wouldn't have been discovered.

"This is very serious," Mr Andrews insisted, folding his arms and looking concerned. "He is one of our officers, and I would hate to think that there was something sinister happening."

Lightoller nodded, "He's been very strange this past week, always breaking into cold sweats and running from the room."

"Really?" Wilde sounded surprised. "You _actually_ noticed that? Something other than your paintings?"

Murdoch sniggered, recieving a dirty look from both Lightoller and the Captain. That didn't phase Murdoch though, who kept on smiling.

"Enough of the nonsense," Captain Smith began, pointing at the officers before him. "I want you three to get to the bottom of this. Today. I had to place Moody in Third Class to avoid attracting attention. You know how the First Class talk."

Wilde nodded in acceptance. "Of course, sir."

Murdoch swayed on the spot, his eyes darting around, before fallling to the ground and landing on his backside with a loud smack. He ignored Lightoller's attempts to help him up, instead he swayed around on the spot for a further few seconds before falling backwards onto his back.

Lightoller looked to Wilde, then the Captain, and finally, Mr Andrews who stared blankly at the now passed-out first officer. Shrugging, Lightoller left the bridge to finish his painting kit he started last night.

"Seriously?" Wilde asked, getting no reply. He stormed off down the boatdeck, trying to discreetly pull up his pantyhose that were falling down his backside quicker than Murdoch hitting the deck.

"These officers ..." Mr Andrews asked, afraid of the answer. "Are you _sure_ they're up to the job?"

The captain thought for a moment. "They are fine officers, Mr Andrews, I can assure you of that. However, they all seem to be ... troubled. No matter, once we set sail I am sure they will be as right as rain."

"What about Mr Murdoch?" Mr Andrews pointed to Murdoch, who was sprawled in front of them.

"Hmmm ... Better let him sleep it off, I'll get someone to carry him to his bed," Smith concluded, approaching Murdoch carefully, who at that moment, let a loud fart rip loudly, which caused the captain to jump back in fright.

Disgusted, Mr Andrews warned, "I trust you to get these men under control, but if something happens to this ship, there will be Hell to pay."

The captain nodded as Mr Andrews made a swift exit before the smell wafted over to him. Stepping back and holding his breath, Smith motioned for two crew to come over to him. Releasing his breath, he instructed them to take Murdoch back to his bed so that he can sober up before starting his duties later on.

* * *

Meanwhile, Moody was accepting third class passengers onto Titanic. He was going about his duties with a smile, though secretly fearful that Bloomer's spirit would appear once again. Finally finished, after allowing two young men on at the very last second, he excused himself and fled to his quarters, slamming the door behind him and pulling over the curtains at his window.

He slumped to the floor, and started chanting to himself. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He could hear a deep, sinister voice in his head, one that he had heard countless times before. He knew the voice meant he was in trouble, but was too afraid to tell anyone. Mainly because they probably wouldn't believe him, and that he'd be admitting to hamster murder. Pitman in particular, was fond of small animals and would no doubt take offense, not to mention that he would fear being anywhere near Moody incase it happened again.

"He. Must. Be. Stopped."

A single tear fell from Moody's eye as he looked up at the door, which at that precise moment opened, engulfing the room in light. There stood Lightoller, with his finished painting of the lamp and the yarn.

"Finished!" Lightoller beamed, holding up the painting, and not noticing that Moody was deeply upset. "Well?"

Moody nodded. "Uh, it's very nice Lights ..."

Lightoller frowned. "Very nice ..."

Moody watched incredulously as Lightoller cast the painting aside and left abruptly, probably to start another kit.

"No. More. Paintings."

Moody was stunned at the voice's commands. Did the spirit of Bloomer really expect him to stop Lightoller from painting? He was afraid of what would happen if he refused to carry out his orders, already suffering a scratched face for not hiding Wilde's fishnet stockings in Murdoch's coat pocket.

"Understood," The terrified officer whispered as he got up from the floor and made his way over to the door.

Trying to act normal, he walked down the corridor to the mess hall. Hoping to find Lightoller there, he was disappointed to find it was only Pitman, who was being comforted by Harold Bride, one of the wireless operators.

"What happened?" Moody asked, sitting opposite them.

"A passenger's dog barked at him, Mr Moody," Bride explained. "I could hear screaming coming from outside, so I went to check it out. Mr Pitman was running down the deck bawling like a baby."

"Oh no ..." Moody looked at his colleague.

Pitman's eyes were still red from crying, and he was still shaking slightly. "I ... h-hate big dogs!"

Bride still looked concerned. "Will he be alright?"

"Define 'alright'," Moody replied. "I'll take over from here Sparks."

Bride was visibly relieved. "Thank you Mr Moody!"

Wilde entered as Bride was leaving. He immediately spotted Pitman and spun around on the spot and walked straight back out. No way was he dealing with Pitman once again.

"Herb, it's almost time for your shift," Moody said softly, trying not to cause Pitman any more despair for one day. "Splash your face with cold water, and put a big smile on your face."

"Like that big scratch you're sporting?" Pitman asked pointedly.

Panicked, Moody quickly made up a lie on the spot. "I fell off the toilet!"

"Onto what?" Pitman asked, confused, and not quite believing Moody.

"Oh, uh, one of those stupid painting boxes," Moody was relieved he could come up with something quickly. Whether Pitman would believe it or not, was another matter.

"I see ..."

Pitman stood up and left, leaving Moody alone at the table. He decided to fix himself a cup of tea and a sandwich, but distracted by Bloomer's orders he ended up putting lettuce and jam on it. Needless to say, when he bit into it he immediately spat it back out.

"What the Hell? Oh, yuck!"

"Jam and lettuce? You _do_ realise that everyone is worried about you?" Wilde had re-entered, once he seen that Pitman had left.

"What do you mean by everyone?" Moody asked, paling slightly.

"Us, the officers and the captain. That's a nasty scratch there," Wilde informed the junior officer, examining the scratch very closely.

"Fell off the toilet onto a box," Moody stated flatly, tossing the sandwich over to the bin, missing by a huge margin. "Stuff it, I'll pick it up later."

"No it's not," Wilde insisted, grabbing Moody by the chin and looking closely at the scratch. "That's a bit too deep to be from a cardboard box. I want the truth this time."

Panicked, Moody said the only thing you could think of, "Leave me alone or I'll show everyone the contents of that case beneath your bed!"

Wilde glared at Moody for a second, before releasing him from his grip. "I will find out, Mr Moody."

Moody let out a sigh of relief as Wilde left the hall, just as Lightoller bounded in with Boxhall, carrying another kit which appeared to be of a horse in a field.

"I only have fifteen minutes before I go back to my duties," Lightoller informed Boxhall, who joined Moody at the table.

"Ach well, if ye cannae dae it in that time, I'll put it away fur ye," Boxhall said thoughtfully, as his Scottish alter-ego Jock. "Didnae want anyone ruining it."

"Excellent, thanks Joseph, I, uh, mean Jock," Lightoller smiled at Boxhall before setting out his paints again. "Maybe James over there will appreciate _this_ painting."

Boxhall glanced over at Moody who shrugged whilst watching Lightoller paint his first chestnut brown strokes on the horse's body.

* * *

Murdoch awoke several hours later, with a pounding headache, a thirst for some vodka, and Lowe standing over him. Raising an arm to cover his eyes, Murdoch threw the nearest object he could find at Lowe, which turned out to be his alarm clock.

"What'd you do that for?" Lowe cried. "I always knew you were out to get me!"

"Bugger off, Harold!" Murdoch ordered, trying to find something else to throw at Lowe. He pulled at something he thought would be a good weapon, but it turned out to be a drawer from his bedside cabinet. Of course, with the weight of the drawer Murdoch dropped it, with it's contents crashing onto the floor.

Murdoch sprang up, and stared in horror as one of his favourite whiskey bottles had smashed on the floor, leaving behind a large puddle and shards of glass. Desperate, he fell to the floor and started licking up the spilled liquid, ignoring Lowe's pleas for him to stop.

"Oh my God ..." Lowe whispered, backing out of the room and signalling for someone to come over. "He's awake ... It's not pretty ..."

Quartermaster Hitchens arrived by Lowe's side, bursting into laughter as Murdoch ditched the licking and began his attempts to suck up the whiskey like a vacuum. It was some sight, to be fair.

"Wait 'til the Captain hears about this!" Hitchens made no attempt to hide his amusement, as he left in search of the captain.

"Will, get up, please!" Lowe begged. "I'm gonna lose my job for this! Stop it!"

Murdoch looked up, whisky around his mouth and a cut on the lip from a glass shard. "Then go! Don't come back unless you have more whiskey!"

"I'll be fired if I leave you! The captain doesn't want me on this ship!" Lowe insisted, trying to pull Murdoch off of the floor.

"Shut up and stop being paranoid!" Murdoch barked, thrusting Lowe aside, who landed on the broken bottle.

"Ow! I think I'm on broken glass," Lowe leaned to one side, trying to brush away glass shards. "Will, you idiot!"

"ENOUGH!" Captain Smith's voice brought Lowe and Murdoch to a complete standstill. "Mr Lowe, clean yourself up and report to the bridge for duty."

Lowe shot Murdoch a dirty look before departing, avoiding any eye contact with the captain, who looked positively furious.

"Mr Murdoch, if you can't show any decorum, or indeed, sober up, I will have no choice but to fire you and remove you from the Officers Quarters. Is that clear?"

Murdoch nodded, checking out the cut on his lip in the mirror. He noticed he had several small cuts on his tongue too, probably from licking glass by accident.

"Good. Be on the bridge in one hour, and be on time for once," Smith ordered as he left the room.

Murdoch chuckled to himself as the door closed behind the captain. He pulled out a half-bottle of vodka from under his pillow and swallowed the contents in one go. No-one was going to separate him from his precious alcohol. Not even the captain.


	3. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

Lowe was walking around on his evening rounds when he could swear he heard someone laughing. He spun around to see no-one there, so he decided to keep on walking, glancing side-to-side every so often, but seeing no-one in sight. It was a slightly cold evening, so it was mostly crew that were venturing outside.

The laughter continued, however.

"Who's there?" Lowe asked, with a worried expression on his face. "Show yourselves!"

Still, no-one appeared. Lowe backed up against the railing on the deck, trying to look in all directions as quickly as he could. The laughter was still continuing, and it seemed to be coming from everywhere.

"Come out right now!" Lowe ordered, wiping sweat off his forehead with his jacket sleeve.

The laughter seemed to get louder and louder, so Lowe decided that there was nothing to it, and sprinted back up the deck towards the bridge, too scared to look back.

"I knew they were out to get me!"

Crouching down behind some deckchairs, Lookouts Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee appeared alongside Murdoch, all three of them laughing hysterically.

"That was fun Mr Murdoch!" Lee exclaimed, clutching his side. It was Murdoch's idea, trying to exact some sort of revenge for Lowe getting him into trouble earlier with the captain.

Swallowing the rest of the beer from the pint he had smuggled from third class, Murdoch slurred, "Yesh, sherves him right! Oh! A chair!"

Murdoch flopped down onto a deckchair, and promptly decided to take a nap, as the two lookouts shuffled away as quickly as they could before they could get into trouble for encouraging Murdoch to drink and harrass Lowe. After all, it wouldn't make sense for the few crew that were of sound mind to get themselves fired, now would it?

* * *

Wilde was putting the finishing touches to his make-up as Pitman burst into his room, trembling - the big dog appeared again, with it's apologetic owner. Wilde's face went chalk white, as did Pitman's, who uttered a loud scream before darting from the room, slamming the door with such force that it fell off of it's hinges. For some reason, Pitman didn't notice the moth-eaten plum ball gown Wilde had on either, which was starting to split at the seams.

"Oh, shite!" Wilde yelled, stumbling over the dress as he tried to make his way to the door as quickly as he could in an attempt to place it back where it was. Bending over, there was a loud rip, and he was horrified to realise that the gown had split at the back, at the zip.

"My God!"

Wilde looked up too see Lightoller and Moody standing over him, with Quartermaster Rowe just behind them. There was a long silence in equal parts of awkwardness and stunned amazement, eventually broken by some sniggering from Rowe.

"You should paint _that_, Mr Lightoller!" Rowe joked, pointing at Wilde, who looked as though someone had shot his puppy. His lips were quivering as he looked to Rowe, the Lightoller, and finally, Moody.

Moody tried to hide the smile that was spreading across his face at Rowe's remark. He failed, beaming stupidly as Wilde glared at him, attempting to stop his lips from quivering further. Moody covered his mouth with his hand, stifling the laughter that was following. He failed with that too, miserably.

Lightoller's mouth was wide open, and he was simply pointing at Wilde's dress, before realising he was wearing make-up too. Taken aback, Lightoller let out a huge guffaw that echoed around the corridor.

"Mr Lightoller! What is all the commotion about?" Mr Andrews was storming up the corridor, looking concerned.

Panicked, Wilde picked up the hem of his dress, and carrying it in front of him, he barged past the officers and Rowe into Murdoch's room before Mr Andrews could see him. Too late.

"What on Earth was that purple blur?" Mr Andrews asked, raising his eyebrows at Lightoller, who was trying his hardest not to laugh.

"See for yourself," Lightoller laughed, moving out the way so Mr Andrews could enter the room, which he did.

As Mr Andrews closed the door, Rowe ran to the door and pressed his ear against it, with Moody and Lightoller following suit. They could hear muffled footsteps, a loud gasp, and finally, some crying. They were too busy listening to the crying to notice that Mr Andrews was on his way out, and upon opening the door, the three of them fell through the doorway and landed at Mr Andrews' feet.

"Just wait until I find the Captain!" Mr Andrews announced indignantly, as he marched back down the corridor.

As Rowe picked himself up off the floor, he took one look at Wilde in his ripped dress and masara running down his cheeks, and decided to make a quick exit, trying to hold back the laughter as he left. He almost succeeded, making it as far as the bridge before howling like a maniac.

Lightoller was next to leave, the vision of Wilde as a woman giving him enough inspiration to try a slightly more complicated painting kit - a bear in a ballet dress riding a walrus.

"Quick. Assemble. The. Others."

Moody knew what Bloomer's voice meant. Without even looking at Wilde, Moody began running around like a headless chicken, trying to find the other officers to gather around at one of Wilde's lowest moments. With Wilde already on his case for the scratch, he didn't want to risk anything else.

* * *

Boxhall was at the bridge with Hitchens, having already been informed by Rowe about Wilde's mishap. They were genuinely devastated to miss out, having been stuck on duty.

"Damn, can't believe I missed that, yo!" Boxhall exclaimed (as Big J, of course). "Dat woulda been so cool!"

Keeping his vision firmly on the sea ahead, Hitchens moaned, "I always miss the best things."

"Did you not see Mr Murdoch suck up whiskey off the floor earlier?" Rowe aked as Boxhall giggled.

"That's right! But Mr Wilde in a dress and make-up! Mr Murdoch's always a drunken mess ..." Hitchens still couldn't hide his disappointment. "I heard the rumours, but I didn't think they were true!"

Boxhall was about to reply, when he could hear rapid footsteps approaching.

"Quick!"

Boxhall and Rowe turned around to see Moody burst onto the bridge, out of breath and doubled over. There was sweat dripping off of Moody's face which was a bright shade of red.

"It's ... Oh, Jesus!" Moody gasped as he tried to catch his breath. "Wilde ... in a ... a ... d-dress!"

"Rowe already told us," Hitchens said flatly.

"Go .. s-see!" Moody insisted, giving Boxhall a nudge before fleeing the bridge in search of the other officers.

"I'll be quick, man!" Boxhall called to Hitchens as he sped down to Murdoch's room, screeching to a halt as Wilde staggered out of the room, his make-up pretty much smeared all over his face. He tried to hold his head high as he sulked past, the rip of at the back causing a gaping hole where Boxhall could clearly see his back hair.

"Das not right man," Boxhall muttered as he jogged back to the bridge.

"What did I tell you?" Rowe asked with a huge smirk.

"Outstanding!" Boxhall cackled, as Hitchens got Rowe to cover for him so he could see. He wasn't going to miss out on the fun.

Hitchens returned moments later clapping with glee and laughing as hard as a he could. "That was _brilliant_!"

The three of them laughed to themselves, as Lowe rushed by, followed by the other wireless operator Jack Phillips. No guesses as to where they were headed. The sight of them running past to see the spectacle that was Wilde just made them laugh even harder.

"Out my way!"

Murdoch stumbled across the bridge, tripping over his good coat and crashing into the wall.

"I'll help you Mr Murdoch!" Rowe said brightly, as he helped guide Murdoch to the corridor leading to the officers' rooms.

"Mr Boxhall!"

Captain Smith appeared with Mr Andrews, and White Star Line director Bruce Ismay at either side. All three of them looked at Boxhall with confusion as Lowe ran out onto the bridge, carrying Wilde's ripped gown.

"I thought you were kidding!" Ismay exclaimed, looking at Mr Andrews in shock, and then to Lowe.

"It's not mine!" Lowe insisted.

"No kidding," Smith ushered Ismay and Mr Andrews down the corridor, following behind after giving his crew a furious look.

* * *

Pitman was trying to drink his tea and force the image of Wilde out of his mind as Lightoller was sitting in front of him, trying to paint the body of a walrus. He could hear all the laughter and commotion that Wilde had caused, and was on edge in case it got any closer.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word," Lightoller sang softly, finishing off the walrus and starting on the bear's dress. "Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird."

Pitman's eyes widened. "What's wrong with you?"

Lightoller paid no notice of him, choosing to continue singing. "And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring."

Pitman stood up abruptly, accidentally knocking the table which meant Lightoller painted a pink streak across his painting. One look from Lightoller, who was nearly in tears, and Pitman practically flew out of the Mess Hall, ignoring the crowd gathering outside Wilde's door.

He almost ran into Lowe, who was still holding the dress. He looked confused, as Lowe held out a hand to try and stop Pitman from running away.

"Don't panic," Lowe soothed, allowing the dress to drop to the ground. "It's not as bad as it seems."

"I messed Light's painting!" Pitman wailed, holding his hands to his head in anguish.

"Oh, dear ..." Lowe mumbled. "He won't like that."

"He's going to get me!" Pitman cried, flapping his arms about in a panic.

"Everyone's out to get me," Lowe stated, before an idea came to mind. "Let's run! I'm off-duty now anyway. They won't get us if they can't find us!"

Pitman nodded. "Good idea! Where will we go?"

"Anywhere!" Lowe insisted, tugging at Pitman before bolting away from the bridge. Pitman followed closely behind, leaving only Hitchens at the bridge with the ball gown.

"Pfft ... Freaks!" Hitchens laughed as Wilde was frog-marched into the captain's office.


	4. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"Mr Wilde, your behaviour on this voyage so far has been completely unacceptable!" Captain Smith roared, pounding a fist on the desk. "As our most senior officer, I expect more from you!"

Wilde just looked ashamed, his face raw from scrubbing the make-up off. He was wearing one of his shirts loosely tucked into his trousers, and looking more like a homeless man than a senior officer. Still, it was better than looking like a very ugly woman.

"I still make the case that Mr Murdoch should be reprimanded," Ismay insisted, looking at Wilde. "Mr Wilde's, um, hobby, didn't interfere with his duties. He still maintained a professional attitude despite this hobby of his. Officer Murdoch, however, has refused point blank to carry out certain duties, and I am pretty sure he is encouraging mischief amongst the crew."

Wilde looked at Ismay gratefully, before looking to the Captain, whose expression softened slightly.

"Mr Wilde, I'm going to have to ask you to cease your activities for the duration," Smith said, looking to Ismay, who nodded.

"Understood," Wilde mumbled, looking down at the floor.

"Good! Now that's settled, I'll locate Mr Murdoch," Mr Andrews announced.

"Thank you," Smith plopped down on a chair, and held is face in his hands. "This is a nightmare. You are excused Mr Wilde."

Wilde left the office to stares from Boxhall and Hitchens. Mr Andrews had enlisted Rowe in trying to find Murdoch, who, unknown to them, was drinking in the cargo hold with a few rebellious crewmen. Although they were possibly easily intimidated by a senior officer who was constantly angry and a purveyor of foul language.

"Not a word," Wilde warned, before heading back to his room to tidy himself up a bit, ignoring the sniggers from Hitchens.

* * *

Moody slumped to the floor in the first class corridor, out of breath and with a stitch in his side. He had looked everywhere, and had now given up, ignoring the funny looks he was recieving from the passengers.

"Are you okay, officer?"

Moody looked up to see a young woman with flowing red locks looking at him with mild concern. Unable to form a sentence, or indeed, a word, he nodded.

"You sure?"

Moody nodded again, massaging his temples. All this running about doing Bloomer's dirty work was giving him a headache, mentally and now physically.

"Well, maybe you should go lie down," The woman said gently as she helped Moody up. Smiling, she added, "I'm Rose. Rose DeWitt Bukater."

"Thank you, Miss DeWitt Bukater. It's nice to meet you," Moody smiled too, albeit rather weakly. "Sixth Officer James Moody."

"Well, Officer Moody, I hope you feel better soon!" Rose waved as she left for her stateroom.

Moody decided to turn in, having to get up early tomorrow for his shift. He was taking in the night air on the boat deck when he could hear shouts and cheers coming from further ahead. Jogging lightly, he arrived at the bridge and realised the noises were coming from below. Looking down, he seen one of the most peculiar sights he had ever set eyes on.

Murdoch had been tied to the base of the crow's nest, far too intoxicated to keep himself upright, or even talk coherently. His hat was missing, as was his officer's jacket, and his shirt was unbuttoned. He kept looking around giddily, reciting nonsense punctuated by the odd short scream.

Quartmaster Rowe was trying to force the other drunk crewmen back to their quarters, but it wasn't happening for him. One had even gone as far as climbing over the railings at the bow of the ship, threatening to jump if Rowe came near him. Needless to say, Rowe had been advised to approach with extreme caution by Mr Andrews, who was questioning the two lookouts on duty.

The Captain stood next to Moody, who suddenly wished that he was the one hanging off the ship's bow. Moody, scared to look at the Captain, sidled away from the Captain, but could feel himself being willed to face the music.

"Mr Moody, take over from Mr Boxhall, I require his assistance," Smith commanded, pointing to the scene down below.

"Yes, sir," Moody replied, walking into the wheelhouse, where Boxhall and Hitchens were in complete silence, listening to the noise outside. "Mr Boxhall, the Captain requires your assistance."

"Ah, Andares could feel the tension in the air. The Captain has made a wise choice," Boxhall whispered into Moody's ear, before leaving to join the Captain.

"Some night, eh?" Hitchens joked, before lowering his voice. "If we stay quiet, Mr Moody, we can hear what's going on."

Moody nodded, relieved to escape further questioning. "Sounds good."

* * *

Meanwhile, Lowe and Pitman were hiding out in the smoking room, trying to look like they were enjoying the atmosphere with a couple of brandies. Pitman swallowed his brandy whole, whereas Lowe took a small sip and spat it back into the glass.

"Eurgh!" Lowe gasped, pushing the glass away from him. "It's like poison!"

Pitman laughed, "Maybe it is!"

As soon as Pitman realised what he had said, he wanted to take it back immediately. Lowe's face was white as a sheet, and he was desperately trying to wipe any traces of brandy from his mouth.

"I knew they were out to get me - The Captain did this!" Lowe insisted. "He's trying to kill me!"

Pitman got up, fearful of what would happen next. "What'll we do?"

"RUN!" Lowe screamed, silencing the smoking room.

The gentlemen of the First Class stared incredulously as two of the ship's officers ran from the room, screaming, with Lowe tossing the odd glass of brandy to the floor and yelling, "He can't get me!"

Pitman and Lowe shoved passengers aside as they raced through the First Class, Pitman throwing an elderly woman to the ground as she walked into an elevator in front of them. The attendant in the elevator was disgusted by Pitman's actions, but couldn't do anything about it as both officers outranked him.

"E Deck!" Lowe ordered, slamming the elevator gates shut as passengers milled around, muttering about their disgraceful behavior.

"Yes, sir," The attendant said sadly, making sure that the elderly woman was helped back up before he took the officers down.

"You'd better apologise for that Herb!" Lowe shrieked as the elevator began to lower.

"Sorry!" Pitman shouted at the woman, who looked as though she had seen a ghost.

"We are in so much trouble!" Lowe cried, biting his fingernails.

Wringing his hands, Pitman had been suddenly hit by the whole situation. "What did I do?"

The attendant sighed, "God help us all ..."

* * *

"This has been the worst sailing day of my career!" Captain Smith moaned to Mr Andrews, who had been gathering information feverishly for the past half hour. "For God's sake, we have one officer tied to a pole!"

Mr Andrews looked sympathetically at the Captain, before looking towards Murdoch, who was desperately trying to wriggle free, but with no luck. All he could do was run around in circles with his back to the pole the whole time.

"That one over there -" Smith pointed to Boxhall, who was still trying to coax the crewman back over the railing. " - Can't decide who he actually is!"

"Dr Rosenbaum," Mr Andrews informed the Captain. "Seems to be working though."

Smith wasn't finished with his rant. "The Chief Officer is also having some sort of identity crisis! My most junior officer is covered in cuts and bruises for no apparent reason, and two officers are missing, being tracked down by a senior officer who I had to physically prise away from another of his stupid paintings!"

"I can't imagine Mr Lightoller liking that," Mr Andrews mused, before recieving a stern look from the captain.

"I had to change my shirt - I _apparently_ ruined his painting, which warranted being poked in the chest by a paintbrush!"

"Ah ..." Mr Andrews couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Mr Andrews, gather the details of the crew here tonight, I can assure you that at the end of tonight, their employment will be under a question mark." Smith ordered, approaching Murdoch.

Murdoch squinted at the Captain, the alcohol having severely blurred his vision. Once he realised who it was, however, he began circling the crow's nest again, tripping over his own feet and slumping to the ground.

Captain Smith stood above him, arms crossed and the vein on his forehead ready to pop. "Just you wait until you have sobered up."

The Captain stormed over to Boxhall, who had succeeded in pulling the crewman over the railing. "Mr Boxhall, see to it that Mr Murdoch is restrained in his own bed tonight, he needs to dry out."

Boxhall replied in an American accent, "Of course, and while I'm at it, I'll try and get to the root of his inner demons!"

Smith raised his eyebrows at Boxhall, who skipped over to Murdoch, who had passed out yet again. Looking around him, Smith decided to leave Mr Andrews in charge and head back upstairs, in the hope that Lightoller had brought back Pitman and Lowe.

* * *

"So, you're saying one of our officers _threw_ a passenger to the ground?" Lightoller asked the elevator attendant, who was still enraged by the earlier events.

"I'm not lying sir, I can ask around, and get the passenger to tell you herself," The attendant retorted, his eyeline falling to the blue paint stain on Lightoller's shirt.

Lightoller realised the stain was showing, and pulled his jacket around tighter. "Well ... Where did they go?"

"E Deck, sir," The attendant motioned for Lightoller to step onto the elevator. "I'll take you down."

Lightoller closed the gates as the elevator descended down through the lower decks. As they arrived at E Deck, a strange sight greeted them.

"Hey, Lights," Lowe chirped, carrying his uniform in one hand, and a pint of lager in the other. Don't worry, Lowe wasn't naked, he was infact wearing a stoker's uniform, having decided to disguise himself in they hope that 'they' won't find him.

Lightoller looked extremely confused. "Harry ... Why ...?"

Pitman bounded towards the two of them, wearing clothes belonging to a third class gentleman. He had discarded his uniform in a trash bag, ordering a steward to throw it overboard. When he seen Lightoller's face however, he crouched behind Lowe, pleading to Lowe to get Lightoller to stop being scary.

"Well! Aren't _we_ in trouble, tonight?" Lightoller asked, grabbing both officers by the shoulders and pushing them into the elevator. He was suddenly in no-nonsense mode, which was strange given that earlier he abandoned his duties to paint freestyle - Murdoch riding a unicorn, which didn't turn out so well.

Pitman let out a yelp and cowered in the corner. Whatever courage he felt from the brandy had long gone. He pressed his face against the elevator wall, his eyes on the floor.

"Did the Captain send you?" Lowe asked nervously, backing against the gate.

"Yes," Lightoller answered curtly. He was still fuming over his ruined painting - a little girl playing with a bowl of fruit. At least he got the Murdoch one finished, and hung it up in the Officers Mess.

"I KNEW IT!" Lowe cried, rattling the gates and jumping up and down on the spot like a trapped rabbit. "He's going to kill me!"

"Easy on the gates!" The attendant snapped, pulling Lowe away. "Here we are!"

"Thank you," Lightoller began. "I truly am sorry for the trouble these two have caused."

The attendant nodded, looking relieved to get rid of them at last. He watched Lightoller lead the two of them away, not releasing his grip on their shoulders despite their pleas.

"Boy, are they in trouble!" He laughed to himself, admitting passengers onto the elevator.


	5. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"What the Hell is that?" Lowe indicated towards the painting of Murdoch on the unicorn that Lightoller painted yesterday evening. It was hanging on the wall for all too see, and was now the cause of intense discussion amongst the officers.

With the exception of Wilde, all six officers were present for a morning meeting with the Captain, which was never going to end well. Murdoch was slumped over a table, his head in his hands, experiencing the worst hangover of his life. Lightoller was next to him, painting a new picture of a sailboat with a dancing devil on the sail. He was also paying close attention to the other officers thoughts on his Murdoch painting, resisting the urge to throw paint at them.

"I can see a horse, but I don't know why it's pink," Moody asked, "And, is that a _penis_ on it's head?!"

Pitman, Lowe and Boxhall burst out laughing as Lightoller threw his paintbrush into his tea by accident in a fit of rage. He barged over to them and started pointing manically at his work of art.

"That is a _horn_, not a penis! It's a unicorn James, you know? From fairytales?" Lightoller began, his eyes reduced to demonic slits as he glared at Moody. "And this man, as you can see by his uniform, is Will!"

Another fit of laughter ensued, as Murdoch looked up at the sound of his name. He watched the other officers closely before burying his head in his hands yet again. Hangovers essentially rendered Murdoch useless, and was usually forced to do even the simplest of tasks such as washing his face and changing his clothes.

"Wow!" Boxhall looked from the painting, to Murdoch, and back to the painting. "Andares can see real talent shining through!"

Lightoller beamed with pride as he returned to his painting, dismayed to find his brush in his tea. Nevermind, he always kept spares in his pockets.

"Gentlemen, sit down please," Captain Smith ordered as he set foot in the mess hall. "This is serious business here."

One by one the officers gathered at the table, Pitman and Lowe avoiding eye contact with the Captain who gave them the row of their lives last night when Lightoller threw them into his office and locked the door. Almost like feeding some chickens to an angry bear, Lightoller thought.

"I'll start by order of ranking. That'll be easier, yes ..." The Captain thought to himself before standing right behind Murdoch. "Sit up, Mr Murdoch!"

Murdoch slowly lifted his head, rubbing his eyes before slouching back in the chair, unaware of the Captain's presence. He could see all the other officers watching him, waiting with baited breath. He gave them all an evil stare, refusing to take his eyes off of them.

"Mr Murdoch!" Smith barked, at which Murdoch shot back in terror.

"My head!" Murdoch groaned.

"When I hired you, I knew that you were one of the best officers I could find. I initially overlooked your little problem because it seemed like you had it under control. I should have known from when you decided to streak through the crew quarters last week that your drinking was serious!" Smith glared at Moody and Lightoller, who were laughing at Murdoch's streaking incident. It was Moody's idea, thanks to Bloomer. "And as for you, Mr Lightoller!"

Lightoller's laughter ceased, and he looked slightly pale. "Y-Yes, sir?"

"Your work comes first! Not these silly paintings you insist on creating. And by the way, stab me with a paintbrush ever again, and I'll stick it somewhere unpleasant!" Smith barked, as Lightoller glanced at his painting in front of him, before looking to the captain once more, who had now rounded on Pitman.

"Uh oh ..." Pitman mumbled, shaking in his chair, his hands gripping the table tight eneough for his hands to turn white.

"I understand every man has his fears, but running down a deck screaming in front of passengers because a dog came near you is simply not acceptable! And you _will_ make a formal apology to Mrs Winterbottom today, rest assured that if you don't, I will give you something to be sorry about!"

Pitman barely nodded before diving under the table for the third time in as many days. He cuddled up to Lightoller's legs, crying on his trousers. Pitman's greatest fear was authority figures, and being severely told off brought up all kinds of issues for him.

"Now, Mr Boxhall -"

"Ma name's Jock, laddie," Boxhall interrupted, in his Scottish accent that riled Murdoch so much, although he was too hungover at this point to even care.

"Well, whoever you are, you appear to be one of the more competent officers in this room. Off duty, you can be whoever you want, but while you are working, you are Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall."

"Aye, sir," Boxhall replied sadly, picking apart a slice of toast.

Lowe was next. He slid further down in his seat so that his eyeline was level with the surface of the table.

"I accept you have paranoia issues. Nevertheless, I hired you because you're a brilliant young officer, and mental health issues should have no bearing on your career. But claiming in public that I am out to get you is not on. Okay? Listen to me. I am _not_ out to get you. Understood?"

Lowe nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on the table.

"Mr Moody, I have serious concerns about these mysterious scratches and bruises that are appearing. I would hate to think that one of my officers was getting into some sort of trouble with whatever it is. This has to end, alright?"

Moody nodded, before fleeing the room. Bloomer was around again, and he didn't want to risk Captain Smith finding out.

Smith sighed, before adding, "This bizarre behaviour stops right now. You are officers on the Titanic for goodness sake! You will all act like grown men, or you will no longer work for the White Star Line again. Do I make myself clear?"

The five remaining officers nodded in unison, as Smith turned on his heel and marched out. Problem solved. Well, for now, anyway ...

* * *

"No, Bloomer, no!" Moody squealed as he started banging his head against the mirror in his room. "Please, enough!"

Moody smacked the mirror hard enough for it to crack, leaving a large cut on his forehead. Trying to stop the bleeding with what turned out to be a pair of underpants, Moody realised that everyone was going to question this latest occurrence.

"Shit ..."

Lowe walked into the room, to prepare for his shift, and stopped cold when he seen Moody. He was horrified to see the cut on Moody's forehead, a feeling that intensified when he recognsied what Moody was using to mop up the blood.

"Jimmy! Those are my underpants!" Lowe cried, snatching them before tossing them aside, realising they were half soaked in blood. "Oh, what happened to you?"

"You c-cant' tell _anyone_," Moody whispered, slamming the bedroom door shut and sitting Lowe down on the bed.

"What happened? Oh no, they got you too, didn't they?" Lowe panicked, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and holding it firmly against Moody's cut.

"Did I ever tell you about my friend John Cuthbertson?" Moody asked.

"Yeah ... He kept all those weird animals," Lowe recalled. "What about him?"

Taking a breath, Moody continued. "He had a black hamster called Bloomer. One day ... One day, he must have escaped from his cage. B-But we didn't know, you see? Anyway ... I, uh, I sat on the couch ... Where Bloomer was ..."

Lowe's eyes widened with shock. "Oh, Jimmy!"

"I killed Bloomer!" Moody wailed, tears welling in his eyes. "Now he's haunting me from beyond the grave!"

"Whoa, wait ... A hamster is haunting you? A _hamster_?"

Moody just looked at his friend, who was utterly confused.

"Did Will slip you some of his home-made beer again?" Lowe asked in a quiet voice. "Last time you had some, you danced with Herb on a table!"

"No! I'm telling you Harry, Bloomer is making me pay for murdering him!" Moody insisted.

"Do you know how silly you sound? A hamster - _a fucking hamster_ - is after you?" Lowe stood up to leave, but was stopped by Moody who slammed into the door so Lowe wouldn't be able to leave.

"Y-You have to believe me!" Moody cried, giving Lowe his sad kitty eyes look. Moody always used this look on women too. In fact, no-one could resist it, even Murdoch, who takes it upon himself to stroke Moody like a cat in one of his rare 'kind and happy drunk' actions.

"Alright, I believe you," Lowe lied, secretly immune to those eyes. "Can I go start my shift now?"

Moody stepped aside so Lowe could leave. Taking another look at his cut, Moody decided to find the first aid kit, rather than scare passengers with an open gash on his forehead.

* * *

Wilde was at the bridge, keeping an eye on things when Lightoller appeared with his completed painting. Lightoller held it up so Wilde could appreciate it, even though Wilde was in no mood to placate his colleague.

"Yes, very good Charles," Wilde said flatly, before excusing himself for a tea break, leaving Lightoller in charge.

"Let's have a look, sir," Rowe took his eyes off the wheel and turned to look at the painting. "I like that one!"

Lightoller placed it delicately next to the wheel. "It's yours then!"

Rowe didn't expect to hear that. "Oh, gee ... Thank you Mr Lightoller."

Wilde appeared with a cup of tea for himself and Lightoller. "Can we please put last night behind us? I'd rather forget that ..."

Smiling, Lightoller replied, "You and me both! Did you hear about Herb and Harry?"

Wilde snorted, tea spraying out of his mouth in the process. "I can't believe they _actually_ tried to pass themselves off as a third class passenger and a stoker!"

"After Herb threw an old woman to the ground, mind," Lightoller reminded Wilde.

Shaking his head, Wilde said quietly, "I worry about those boys."

"As do I," Lightoller began. "Are my paintings really that bad?"

"No, it's just ... you paint _a lot_!"

Lightoller looked slightly crestfallen. Wilde noticed this, and tried to make everything better before he had a paint pot thrown at his face. Again.

"But they are still good paintings! I particularly admire the pink unicorn one in the Mess Hall," Wilde insisted. "Who's the gentleman riding it?"

"Will Murdoch," Lightoller answered, giggling slightly.

Wilde spat out more tea as he laughed hysterically at Lightoller's revelation. "Oh, fantastic!"

Lightoller had never looked more pleased with himself. "Perhaps I should paint my own pictures more often!"

"You do that," Wilde sighed, as Lightoller ran inside, dripping tea everywhere. "Strange man."

Rowe laughed to himself, reminding himself to go look at the Murdoch painting later.

* * *

Pitman and Boxhall were watching Murdoch, who was clearly in a great deal of distress. His body was tembling, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. He has _never_ felt as bad as this in his whole life, and just wanted some whiskey to take away the horrible feeling.

Boxhall was in his element as Dr Rosenbaum. "You're were using alcohol to suppress your emotions. You didn't appreciate Charles' paintings, so you used alcohol as a way to barricade yourself from him, didn't you?"

Murdoch glared at him, his bloodshot eyes boring into Boxhall's. "Be quiet, will you?"

"Open hostility," Boxhall whispered to Pitman, who looked had been looking pretty fearful ever since he emerged from under the table. "Don't take it to heart."

Murdoch swiped thin air, not having the energy to physically reach Boxhall. Pitman pushed his chair back, wanting to stay well out of Murdoch's range. He was looking around nervously, as though he was ready to run at a moment's notice.

"William, that is not how we do things here," Boxhall reasoned, leaning back just in case.

Murdoch launched half a slice of toast at Boxhall, where it bounced off his chest and landed on the floor. "Ah, to Hell with it!"

"Oh, my ..." Pitman sighed as Murdoch buried his head in his arms once more.

Lightoller came waltzing in, carrying a blank sheet of card and several paints. Noticeably absent was an actual painting by numbers kit. It looked as thought he had taken Wilde's advice.

Even though no-one had asked, Lightoller informed them of his plans. "I'm going to paint by myself today! Dedicated to Quartermaster Rowe, I shall be drawing Henry Wilde in a dress!"

Before Lightoller could put brush to paint, Murdoch swung a fist at him, catching him right in the eye. Lightoller crumpled to the ground as Pitman fled, crying hysterically and shouting at the top of his lungs, "Will's finally done it! He's going to kill Lights!"

Silly Pitman, Murdoch had merely knocked him out. Murdoch rubbed his hands together, muttering "Excellent."

"WILLIAM MCMASTER MURDOCH!" Boxhall roared, tending to Lightoller as Murdoch slouched out of the Mess Hall, laughing manically. "He _has_ to be fired this time!"


	6. Chapter Six

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : _At this point I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed so far! Your favourable reviews have made me smile, and it's what gives me the encouragement to continue!_**

**_I'd like to point out that I have no definite story plan, so I'm basically making this up as I go along, which is why it is now going off into some of the most random situations, as you'll find out. All I can confirm is that all Hell will break loose once the ship eventually hits the iceberg, which will be ages away at this rate lol._**

**_BTW, if you look closely at my crappy wee image I created in Paint (!) Murdoch actually resembles the Grouse. Completely accidental :)_**

**_Oh, and if you didn't already guess, my mind is pretty warped and twisted, and probably at the behest of a psychotic goldfish, or something similar._**

**Thrae Elddim : _I included a special someone in this chapter just for you :)_**

**classicmovielover :_ I honestly didn't realise the resemblence between Murdoch and Mr Burns in that last chapter. It certainly wasn't intentional, though now I can actually picture him doing that haha :)_**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

Lightoller woke up an hour and a half later with a pounding headache and a black eye. Looking around, he could see that he was in his room, with Boxhall and Moody whispering away in the corner, watching Lightoller with interest. He managed to sit up slowly, wondering why on Earth he felt as though someone clubbed him over the head with an oar.

"What happened?" Lightoller asked weakly, clutching his head.

"Dat Murdoch went and knocked yo out big time," Boxhall informed Lightoller, as his alter ego Big J. "You got some black eye there man! Check it out, yo!"

Startled, Lightoller leapt across his room to his mirror. His mouth fell open in shock as he inspected the large bruise under his eye. He started poking and prodding it, willing for it to go away.

"Bastard!" Lightoller aimed a fist at the wall.

"Yo, James, you gotta go tell da Captain dat he's awake," Boxhall instructed Moody, who gave Lightoller a sympathetic look before leaving.

"Where the Hell is he?!" Lightoller roared, looking at Boxhall, who looked terrified. Lightoller wasn't one to go into a rage, but when he did, they were legendary.

Boxhall shrugged, before slipping into the ways of Jock. "Ah dinnae ken, Charlie. Calm doon though, will ye?"

"Calm down? I am calm," Lightoller said through gritted teeth, as he tried to arrange his hat in such a way that it hid his black eye. "I'm _perfectly_ calm."

Boxhall wasn't convinced as Moody reappeared with the Captain following behind.

"Are you alright Mr Lightoller?" The Captain asked, as he inspected Lightoller's eye. "What Mr Murdoch did to you was an absolute disgrace. Never have I seen an officer conduct themselves with no respect for anyone else."

"I'm just a bit ... Blindsided by the whole thing," Lightoller admitted. "I was about to start painting, and then apparently I'm lying on the floor unconscious."

"Nto to worry, I will personally see to it that Mr Murdoch is punished severly for his actions," Captain Smith patted Lightoller on the shoulder. "Assaulting a colleague is a sackable offense, you know."

Lightoller nodded grimly. Despite being in a great deal of pain, he felt some form of guilt that one of his old friends was about to lose their job. He wasn't _that_ guilty of course, perhaps about thirty percent guilty, seventy percent furious. Will's gone and done it this time, Lightoller thought.

* * *

Murdoch was sitting under a stairwell in the lower decks of the ship when some young men from steerage walked past. One of them, an American, stopped in his tracks once he caught sight of Murdoch. The Irishman and the Italian followed suit looking amused.

"Hey, officer, you alright?"

Murdoch looked up, "Why wouldn't I be? I finally did something I should have done last week!"

The Irish passenger came to a sudden realisation. "Hey, you're Scottish - you're that drunk officer! Jack, it's him!"

Jack looked impressed. "Whoa-hoa-hoa! You pass out down here?"

"I'm not drunk and I didn't pass out," Murdoch grumbled, getting to his feet. "I'm just staying away from that crackpot Lightoller!"

"Jack, Tommy," The Italian began, "Will we invite him to tonight's party?"

"I don't want to get him fired, Fabrizio," Tommy answered, looking at Murdoch, who was looking disappointed himself.

"I'm probably already fired," Murdoch replied after some thought. "Doubt the Captain would appreciate me punching that idiot in the face."

"Then there should be no problem!" Jack said brightly, looking at his two friends. "May as well make the best of it!"

Murdoch smiled for the first time since knocking out Lightoller, which would be for the second time in _two weeks_. "Got any spare clothes then?"

* * *

On his rounds, Lowe had been advised to look out for Murdoch, who was nowhere to be seen. He was horrified to hear what had happened to Lightoller, and was constantly looking around incase Murdoch was lurking somewhere and was about to make him his next victim.

He had found Wilde near the Parisian Cafe, who was also looking for the missing first officer. Wilde cheeks were flushed, though it could be that he put on some blusher. After last night, he didn't want to risk being too obvious.

"Have you seen Will yet?" Lowe asked in a hushed voice, looking around.

Wilde shook his head. "Can't say that I have. Charles is conscious now, the Captain was going to see him just as I left."

"Oh, good. Must mean he's okay then," Lowe concluded, looking slightly relieved.

"James said he's got a nasty black eye," Wilde said with concern. "So, we have one officer with a black eye, and one with a scratch on his cheek and a new wound on his forehead. At this rate there won't be any of us left by the time we dock in New York!"

Without thinking, Lowe joked, "Can't you lend them your make-up to cover up their bruises and stuff?"

Blusher or not, Wilde's face went bright red. He opened his mouth to shout at Lowe, but was denied the opportunity as Lowe had already disappeared into the cafe.

"He's going to come after me now!" Lowe wailed to himself, narrowly avoiding running into Ismay. However, he clattered right into Rose, who dropped to the ground. "Oh, my God! I'm so sorry!"

"Imbecile!" Came a voice from behind Lowe.

Helping Rose up, Lowe then spun around to find a gentleman slightly older than him looking outraged.

"Cal, I'm fine!" Rose insisted. "It was an accident."

Cal eyed Lowe suspiciously. "You're one of the officers that ran screaming out of the smoking room last night, aren't you?"

Lowe froze. He looked from Cal to Rose, who was trying to stifle some laughter. Clearly Cal had told her about Lowe and Pitman's antics last night.

"Erm ... Uh ..."

"I should have a word with the Captain about all this," Cal warned Lowe, taking hold of Rose and leading her away. "Mark my words, officer."

Lowe looked around him before sulking off, in search of Murdoch. Now Cal was after him too, he thought.

* * *

Pitman was talking away to Phillips and Bride in the Marconi Wireless room. He had finally regained some composure after recieving a talking-down from the Captain. It took the Captain twenty minutes to stop Pitman's hysterics, after he was utterly convinced that Lightoller wouldn't make it to New York alive. In the end, Hichens threw a cup of water in Pitman's face, which worked like a charm.

"So we're stuck in here, and the officers are having the time of their lives?" Phillips complained, after sending out another message.

"Time of our lives? Haven't you been listening to what's been happening?" Pitman asked incredulously.

Bride sniggered as Phillips turned to face Pitman, ready to make his case.

"Mr Murdoch is always drunk, it's like a constant party for him. Mr Lightoller keeps painting, which is making him happy. Mr Boxhall, to be frank, is downright insane. Mr Lowe ... Oh, well, maybe not him ... But Mr Moody ... Shit ... Okay, you ... Ah ..." Phillips trailed off, realising that Pitman had a point.

"You ... Got chased by a dog!" Bride said to Pitman, pointing and laughing at him. "That made _my_ day!"

"That's not funny!" Pitman shrieked. "It was the size of a lion!"

An uproar of laughter came from the wireless operators as Pitman stormed out in a huff, their laughter echoing throughout the corridor.

"It's not funny ..." Pitman mumbled as he made his way to the wheelhouse.

Lightoller was having a quiet conversation with Moody, with one hand self-consiously covering his bruised eye. They seemed to be having an intense discussion, so Pitman decided to slip into his room, away from everyone's laughter. He met Boxhall in the corridor however, and was urged to come back out.

"Any of you seen Will yet?" Lightoller frowned, folding his arms.

Both Pitman and Boxhall shook their heads.

"Ugh, damn it," Lightoller huffed. "Until that man is found I am not going on shift!"

"That's a bit extreme," Moody commented.

"Trust me, it's not!" Lightoller barked, barging past Boxhall and Pitman, presumably to start that painting of Wilde that he never got around to, thanks to Murdoch.

"James, what happened to your head?" Pitman pointed out.

"Fell into my mirror," Moody half-lied. "It's fine, really."

Neither Pitman nor Boxhall were convinced, especially as Moody seemed to tense up. They watched with confusion as Moody bolted from the wheelhouse down to the lower decks, knocking random crewmen to the ground by accident.

"Andares has a bad feeling about all this ..." Boxhall muttered to Pitman, who groaned at Boxhall's latest 'character change'.

* * *

Murdoch was virtually unrecognisable in the clothes Jack stole from some Swedish man. He decided to keep a low profile incase any crew realised it was him, so Jack, Tommy, Fabrizio and himself were holed up in Tommy's room. They had smuggled in several beers each, and were drinking merrily.

"So, Mr Murdoch, what's it like being an officer?" Jack asked, taking a swig of beer.

"Pretty damn good," Murdoch laughed, finishing his first pint and starting another. "What's it like being poor?"

None of the guys knew quite how to answer. Fabrizio shifted uncomfortably, avoiding any eye contact with Murdoch. Tommy merely smiled politely, whereas Jack took it in his usual good humour.

"Pretty damn good," He joked, before adding. "Seriously, it's like one big adventure. I just set out and see what happens. I didn't plan on being on the Titanic, nor did I plan on inviting one of the officers down for drinks. But hey, that's what happened!"

Murdoch thought for a minute. "Now, I don't know if it's the beer talking but -"

"It's the beer," Tommy pointed out, as Murdoch started his third glass. Clearly, sobriety was never going to last long with him.

"I'll shut up then," Murdoch said quietly, before finishing the glass in a few gulps. He looked around, disappointed that he had finished all his beers.

"Hey, you can have this, yeah?" Fabrizio generously offered Murdoch one of his pints.

"Thank you my good man!" Murdoch replied, nearly taking off Fabrizio's hand as he grabbed the glass. "Beer, get in me now!"

"At this point, he's going to be wasted before dinner," Tommy whispered.

Jack laughed. "It's all in good fun!"

"Hey, I have some whiskey in my room!" Murdoch realised. "But how do I get it?"

"Can you not ask someone?" Tommy suggested. "There must be someone who's scared of you!"

Murdoch clapped his hands. "Herb! He's scared of everything!"

"_Everything_?" Fabrizio questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"Aye! I threw a paper airplane at him once, he ran away crying!"

At Murdoch's little story, the three of them burst into laughter.

"No way!" Jack cried with glee. "That's superb!"

"So we have a plan then?" Tommy asked. "Find this Herb to retrieve your whiskey?"

Murdoch nodded, "We have a plan. We just need to avoid every other officer though. _Especially_ Lightoller."

"He the guy you punched?" Tommy asked with genuine interest.

"Right in the face!" Murdoch declared proudly, holding up his pint as though it were some sort of reward.

"So definitely avoid the officer with facial injuries," Jack noted.

"Let's do this!" Fabrizio cheered.

Nodding in agreement, they finished their pints and set off, with Murdoch not being able to walk in a completely straight line. That probably would be a big giveaway there. Nevertheless, they were determined to retrieve that whiskey, and whatever else Murdoch had stashed.


	7. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Moody stopped dead in his tracks on the promenade deck. Bloomer was looming about again, and felt sick at the sound of his voice, nevermind what he was commanding this time.

"Wilde. Must. Go. Overboard."

"Geez, you really hate him!" Moody said in surprise, before he realised that he was only really taking to himself, or rather a voice in his head. A passenger who overheard what seemed to be a random outburst looked concerned as Moody shuffled over to a sunlounger and threw himself upon it.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Moody lay on his back, wanting it to be all over. He felt as though he had been punished enough for what happened to Bloomer. Besides, that pigeon he accidentally kicked to it's death last year didn't seem angry enough about it to exact revenge. He lowered his hate so that his face wasn't visible to passers-by. He didn't have the heart to throw Wilde overboard, but at the same time, he was fearful of what would happen if he didn't.

"Shhh! I think that's an officer," Came an Irish voice from further down the deck.

Moody pulled his hat off his face and looked in the direction of the voice. There were only a few first class women milling about, with no sign of any gentlemen in sight. He was convinced that he was growing steadily insane.

"I need to find Joeseph ... His Dr Rosenbaum guy can help me," Moody concluded, as he turned to face the other way and closed his eyes for a cheeky nap. Ever since this Bloomer business started, he wasn't been able to get more than a few hours sleep a night without breaking out into a cold sweat or being overwhelmed with guilt.

"Wait til he falls asleep," This time, the voice came from a Scotsman. And it sounded vaguely familiar, though Moody shrugged it off as his own mind playing tricks on him. Or Bloomer was making him hear these voices that appear as if from nowhere.

Closing his eyes once more, he eventually drifted off, unaware that Murdoch was sneaking past, in his stolen steerage clothes. He was closely follwed by Tommy, who acted as a lookout for any other officers. Maybe Moody isn't as crazy as he thinks he is ...

* * *

Busy painting the finishing touches to Wilde's dress, he failed to realise that the man himself had appeared in the Mess Hall, muttering about not being able to find Murdoch. He had just the background to paint, and was going to use what he thought were 'feminine colours'.

"I can't find that man anywhere!" Wilde complained as he poured himself a cup of tea.

Lightoller sat bolt up right, before pulling his painting close to him and leaning his body over it so that it would be hidden from Wilde. He was particularly proud of this work of art, and didn't want Rowe to recieve anything less than perfect.

"He'll be in the last place you look," Lightoller frowned as Wilde sat along the table from him and put his feet up.

"Of course he will, because when I find him I won't have to look anymore," Wilde snapped. "God, that man is really starting to tick me off!"

"Starting?" Lightoller questioned. "God, we're not even thirty hours into this voyage ..."

Wilde looked to Lightoller to apologise for snapping at him, but he didn't get a chance to as Pitman sprinted in, holding his arms above his head. He was shaking profusely as he slid into the chair next to Lightoller.

"I hate seagulls!" Pitman cried. "Bloody noisy, flappy bastards!"

Wilde failed to stop a slight chuckle escape. Pitman glared at him, before noticing that Lightoller was hiding his painting from view. He pulled it out from under Lightoller, who was distracted by the seagull feathers on the back of Pitman's jacket.

"Who the ...? Yikes!" Pitman thrust the painting in Wilde's direction, which was a very bad move on his part.

Wilde instantly recognised himself, and stared at Lightoller open mouthed as Lightoller snatched it back, looking slightly petrified. Wilde attempted to stare Lightoller down, but all he succeeded in doing was scaring Pitman, who clung to Lightoller and cowered into his arm.

"It's for Quartermaster Rowe," Lightoller bravely informed Wilde. "But it will go on display next to the painting of Will."

Wilde was astounded. "Wait a damn minute! You paint a picture of _me_, in some sort of gown, and you're giving it to _Rowe_?"

"His idea, I'm personally dedicating it to him," Lightoller replied matter-of-factly as Wilde resisted the urge to mimic Murdoch and punch Lightoller in the face.

"Like Hell you are!" Wilde bellowed, throwing Lightoller's water pot all over him, just narrowly missing the painting.

"Oh no, Wilde's going to kill Lights!" Pitman screamed, in an almost identical action reply of earlier, before darting out of the hall.

Furious with Wilde for throwing murky paint water on him, he pulled at Wilde's shirt, which ripped open. He was amazed to see what appeared to be a girdle underneath the shirt. Grabbing his painting, Lightoller backed away from Wilde as quickly as he could.

"Oh no, don't you run away from me," Wilde threatened, as he picked up the empty water cup and threw it at Lightoller, who dodged it.

"I'm not getting _another_ black eye!" Lightoller hollered as he threw random objects behind him to slow down Wiled as he bolted out of the hall.

* * *

Boxhall was eyeing up a curious sight in first class. Two steerage passengers had managed to sneak their way in, and were now huddled behind a large plant. They appeared to be devising some sort of plan.

"Andares can't have that," Boxhall insisted, as he walked over to them with the intent of taking them back down to steerage.

The two passengers spun around as they heard footsteps right behind them. It was Jack and Fabrizio, and they both looked stunned to have been found. They genuinely thought that the plant was a decent hiding place.

"Andares would like to ask you to leave," Boxhall informed them, recieving some very confused looks.

"Who's Andares?" Jack asked, looking around incase more officers appeared. The last thing they needed was to get caught.

"Andares is who I am," Boxhall replied, looking slightly hurt. "Andares does not appreciate your line of questioning."

"He looks like an officer," Fabrizio whispered to Jack, indicating towards Boxhall's uniform jacket.

"Yeah, you're right," Jack whispered back, before asking Boxhall, "What officer are you?"

"Andares has had enough of your questions. Andares thinks it is time for you to return to steerage," Boxhall pulled the two of them from behind the plant.

There were a few shocked gasps from first class passengers, some of whom seemed sickened that such passengers had made their way into the first class. Jack gave them a dirty look before looking at Boxhall once more.

"I haven't heard of an Andares. Are you sure you're a _real_ officer?" Jack asked, getting annoyed at this point.

"Andares would like you to return to steerage before I personally escort you back," Boxhall threatened, pushing Jack and Fabrizio away from the passengers.

"Doesn't seem like Pitman," Jack noted quietly, as Boxhall shoved them once more.

"It's okay! We Go!" Fabrizio pulled at Jack's sleeve to hurry him up and avoid anymore shoves from Boxhall.

Watching them walk away under the careful eye of a couple of stewards, Boxhall turned on his heel and left for the officers quarters. "Andares should keep an eye on those two."

* * *

Lowe was finishing up on his rounds when he came across Moody napping. He decided to wake him up, despite being well aware of Moody's sleeping troubles. He gently prodded Moody's shoulder several times until he began to stir.

"Jimmy? You okay?" Lowe asked once Moody had woken up and sat upright on the sunlounger.

Moody shook his head with great sadness. "I know you don't believe me, but it's Bloomer again."

"I kind of _do_ believe you, but it's hard to explain," Lowe sighed. "What does he want this time?"

"I somehow have to throw Henry overboard," Moody admitted, stretching his arms. Glancing at the stunned look on Lowe's face, he added, "I'm not going to to do it, of course!"

"I should think not!" Lowe said curtly. "You'd probably end up overboard as well."

Moody sat in silence for a few minutes, before finally getting to his feet and stretching his legs. "I suppose I should head back."

"Same. Just need to stay out of Wilde's way though," Lowe frowned as he walked alongside his colleage. "I'm pretty sure he's after me now too. God, why is everyone after me?"

"I ... Have no idea whatsoever," Moody answered honestly. "At least it isn't a dead hamster."

"Caldeon Hockley is after me too," Lowe added. "I ran into his fiancee and sent her to the ground flying."

"Oh dear ..." Moody mumbled, patting Lowe on the back sympathetically.

Upon reaching the wheelhouse, they watched as Lightoller barged around, ranting to anyone that came near him, and carrying a lamp for some reason.

"You too!" Lightoller barked once he had spotted him, brandishing his lamp. "Have you seen Will yet?"

Both Moody and Lowe shook their heads as Lightoller resisted the urge to launch the lamp at them. They sidled away from him as he started taking random swings at midair, as though the lamp were a sword.

"What happened to your shirt?" Moody quizzed, noticing the murky stains on his otherwise crsip white shirt.

"Henry. Threw my water pot over me!" Lightoller exclaimed, still waving the lamp around extravagantly. "Oh, don't get me started on him!"

"At least he didn't punch you!" Lowe joked, and against better judgement he added, "It's only a silly bruise!"

He received a steely glare from Lightoller who raised the lamp and aimed it for him.

"Look at the state of my face," Moody pointed to his scratch and then his wound. "You still look better than me!"

"I look better than every single one of you," Lightoller maintained confidently. "Trust me, when I get a hold of Will, even you will look better than him!"

"Mr Lightoller, why are you waving that lamp around?"

Lightoller swung around, nearly hitting the speaker with the lamp plug. Just as well, because the speaker turned out to be Captain Smith. At his side was Ismay, who was studying Lightoller very carefully.

"No reason, sir," Lightoller lied, lowering the lamp and pulling the plug towards himself.

"Can anyone please explain to me why our officers are running amok?" Ismay questioned, as he snatched the lamp from Lightoller's clutches.

Not once of the men could think of an answer that could be deemed acceptable by either the captain or Ismay.

"Mr Lightoller," Captain Smith began, stepping towards the senior officer. "Given the situation at hand, I am _temporarily_ placing you in the role of First Officer. You are to remain in this role until Mr Murdoch can be found and subsequently dealt with. Do _not_ let me down, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," Lightoller answered with a smile. Originally, he should have been the first officer, but due to some reshuffling and the addition of Wilde, he was bumped down to second officer.

"Good, now that's settled, I would like for you to join Mr Ismay and I. There are some important issues that need to be discussed," Smith announced.

"Of course sir. WIll Mr Wilde be joining us aswell?" Lightoller asked politely, walking alongside them.

"I feel uncomfortable around that man," Ismay answered indignantly.

Lowe and Moody watched as they walked away talking amongst themselves.

"Hmmmm ... If I throw Henry overboard then the captain would make Lights Chief!" Moody joked, as Lowe laughed nervously.

* * *

Murdoch and Tommy met up with Jack and Fabrizio at the rear of the ship. They had all gathered around a bench, and were trying to gather up as much information as they had obtained.

"Did you find him?" Murdoch asked, getting desperate as he could feel the alcohol buzz slowly fizzle out.

"I don't think so ... We were told to leave by some guy called Andes or something," Jack replied, shrugging.

"Andares," Murdoch corrected him. "It's actually Fourth Officer Boxhall, the big idiot has some sort of personality disorder. I should've mentioned that."

"Oh, good grief," Tommy muttered before taking a draw from his cigarette. He watched as a steward paraded by with several dogs on leashes. "That's typical! First class dogs come down here to take a shite!"

"Ah, it lets us know where we rank in the scheme of things," Jack responded, looking up to the higher decks. He could see a beautiful redhead look out at the water behind the ship, before she glanced at him.

Laughing, Fabrizio waved his hand in front of Jack's face to no response.

"Ah, forget it boyo. You'd as like have angels come out of your arse than get next to the likes of her," Tommy joked.

"Yeah, forget it Jack!" Murdoch insisted as he slapped Jack across the forehead. "We need to get me some more alcohol."

"Ow! Okay, okay," Jack relented, after he seen Rose being led away by Cal. "Right, well we seen a Welsh officer aswell."

"Nah. Fifth Officer Lowe, paranoid wee bugger," Murdoch stated. "If we approached him he'd run away screaming that he's be after him."

"We saw one though," Tommy began, looking at Murdoch. "Officer Moody, lazy git was napping on the job!"

"We try again?" Fabrizio asked, looking around him at the other three men.

Murdoch nodded. "That's right."

* * *

Pitman had gotten himself lost in the first class corridors, after fleeing from two small children who slapped him on the hip so he would play 'tag' with them. He hated being touched anywhere.

"Yo, Herb!"

Pitman found Boxhall running towards him, on the lookout incase Jack and Fabrizio made another appearance. Pitman recognised the booming voice as Big J, probably Boxhall's most intimidating personality. Well, to Pitman at least.

"H-Hello Big J ..." Pitman whispered. "W-What you doing?"

"Da usual, ya know?" Boxhall shrugged. "Had'ta throw a couple of dem steerage peeps outta First Class, man."

"Peeps ...?" Pitman was confused by this word he had never heard before.

"Peeps, ya know? Da people," Boxhall laughed. "Holy Hell, man!"

A few passengers looked at Boxhall. disgusted by his 'foul' language. Well, it was foul by their standards anyway. Pitman didn't say anything else, just wondered when he could finish his duites and curl up in bed.

"Not again, man!" Boxhall uttered, as he spotted Jack and Fabrizio with two other steerage passengers. "HEY! GET OUTTA DA FIRST CLASS, YO!"

"Andares!" Jack yelled. "Run!"

Unknown to Boxhall and Pitman, Murdoch glanced around at them as they ran down the corridor, before shouting, "It's him! I've found him!"

"Dey be trouble, man." Boxhall said to himself as he and Pitman chased down the corridor after them.


	8. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Lightoller had finally escaped from the meeting with the captain and Ismay. He was checking out his kit boxes in his room, deciding between either a cat with a cabbage leaf on it's head, or a a pint of lager in a field of daisies. While he didn't want to mess up this opportunity that he had been handed, he was desperate to complete a kit for once.

"Ah, I'll do the cat one ..."

Carrying the kit to the Mess Hall, he was pleased to see that he was the only one in the room. Peace and quiet, just what he needs. He lay out his kit before grabbing a sandwich and a cup of tea. With the other officers otherwise preoccupied, it was going to be bliss.

He should've known that wouldn't last. Lowe bounded in, glad to be on a decent break from his duties. He too, grabbed himself something to eat, and sat next to Lightoller, who was slightly disgruntled that his peace was essentially ruined.

"I won't put you off," Lowe insisted, taking a huge bite.

"Good," Lightoller said flatly, as he carefully painted the cabbage leaf a dark green.

Lowe watched as Lightoller finished the leaf, and started on the cream shade of the cat's fur. At this point, he did feel kind of bad about how he is fed up of his paintings, because, truth by told, he thought they were rather good - especially the picture of Murdoch, which was still hanging.

"It seems as though you have something within you that's causing you all this grief."

Lightoller looked up to see Boxhall conversing with Moody by the teapot. It seemed like Murdoch and the others were able to escape after all. Trying to concentrate, he finished the cat's fur and started on the eyes and other details.

"We should discuss this before your mental well-being deteriorates any further," Boxhall added. Looked as though Moody was able to get a hold of 'Dr Rosenbaum' after all.

"Yeah, cheers," Moody led Boxhall out of the room.

Lightoller let out a sigh of relief. Peace once more.

Lowe however, was keen on discussing Moody's problems with someone, and didn't seem to care that it was Lightoller. Better him than Wilde, because at least Lightoller isn't after him. Yet.

"Got a minute?" Lowe asked cautiously, edging away on his seat slightly.

Lightoller frowned as he placed his brush very carefully into his water pot. "Who's after you now?"

"Ummm ... Mr Hockley and Henry ... But that's not what I want to talk about," Lowe said in a hushed voice, leaning towards Lightoller. "James has serious problems."

"Pfft, I knew that!" Lightoller scoffed, ready to grab his brush again, but was stopped by Lowe, who grabbed his arm.

"Serious issues, Lights," Lowe said firmly. "You can't tell _anyone_ what I'm about to tell you."

Despite not getting to continue painting, he was intrigued. "Out with it then Harry!"

"James, he's being haunted," Lowe admitted, as Lightoller roared with laughter. "It's not funny!"

"Haunted by what? A ghost?" Lightoller joked, looking at Lowe as though he were mad. "Get real!"

"I am real! ... Aren't I?" Lowe suddenly found himself questioning his existence, before pushing the matter out of his mind and continuing. "Jimmy, he had this friend who kept lots of animals, and one day-"

"Oh no, you're going to say it's a zebra, aren't you?" Lightoller groaned. He personally despised zebras, because their stripes made it slightly difficult to paint them sometimes as opposed to a regular horse.

"No, a hamster!"

Lightoller was confused. "What's a hamster?"

"Um, like a fat mouse with a stump for a tail," Lowe replied. "Kinda small and cute."

"It's a fat mouse, what is cute about _that_?" Lightoller scoffed.

Lowe stared blankly.

"I can understand a cat, or even a baby fox, but not some sort of rodent!"

"Can I talk now Lights?" Lowe asked pointedly, staring at his colleague straight in the eye, who nodded curtly.

"Fine, make it quick."

"Okay, his friend kept his hamster in a cage. Oh, it was black and called Bloomer. Anyway, one day he got out and Jimmy accidentally sat on him -"

Lightoller practically screamed with laughter, his head flung back with such force that his hat fell off.

"Lights!" Lowe bellowed, slapping him across the shoulder. "It's not funny!"

"Oh, but it is!" Lightoller insisted, reaching for his hat. "How could he not see that thing was there?"

"I don't know," Lowe shrugged. "But he says he's being haunted by the hamster as punishment for sitting on him."

"Christ, I think he better head for an asylum," Lightoller noted, picking up his paintbrush. "It's simply impossible."

"I thought so too. But then I got to thinking ... Say it did happen? Maybe it's just a way of Jimmy's guilt building up." Lowe reasoned.

"Oh, he gave you the sad eye, didn't he? That's why I never make eye contact with him!" Lightoller laughed, before going back to his painting.

Lowe sat in silence, wondering if he did the right thing by telling Lightoller. Paranoia crept over him, as he thought that Lightoller would tell Moody about their little exchange just now, and that Moody would come after him. Lowe thought to himself, what did I do?

* * *

"I think we're okay here," Jack began, crouching next to a stairwell in the lower decks. "I doubt he followed us all the way down here."

"You've seen what Pitman looks like, go find him," Murdoch ordered before passing out.

Fabrizio looked at Jack and Tommy, before asking, "What do we do?"

"Hide him," Tommy answered, grabbing Murdoch's sleeve and attempting to drag him under the stairwell. It took all three of them to manage it, with Fabrizio doubled up with cramp.

"Fabri, you stay here with him," Jack said in a hushed voice. "Me and Tommy will go find Pitman and bring him here."

"Okay," Fabrizio replied, clutching his leg.

"Right, let's go!" Jack pulled at Tommy, who followed immedaitely behind.

* * *

Moody was relieved that Boxhall could help him to some extent, although with the sudden change in personalities, it was hard to get a decent session with 'Dr Rosenbaum'.

"Afternoon Mr Rowe," Moody said brightly as he stepped onto the bridge.

"Mr Moody, you seem a lot happier today!" Rowe chirped, keeping his eyes on the ocean.

"Thank you, although I'm not sure I feel _that_ much better," Moody muttered, dragging his feet along. True, it did give him some help, but Moody was still feeling guilty over the hamster's death.

"Try. To. Get. Rid. Of. Me. I. Dare. You." Came Bloomer's voice, which made Moody shriek and sprint down the deck, past the puzzled passengers and crew. Guess 'Dr Rosenbaum' still has his work cut out for him.

Moody game to a grinding halt when he seen two steerage passengers run in his direction, who stopped cold at the sight of him. He suddenly felt self-conscious as the two of them stared at his face, and approached them carefully.

Jack and Tommy were whispering to each other, clearly in an arguement. Neither of them noticed that Moody was now two feet in front of them.

"You two shouldn't be here," Moody stated in his most authoritive tone.

Jack took one look at his face and shouted at the top of his lungs. "Lightoller! Quick, get outta here!"

Moody was extremely mystified as he watch the two of them run away, followed by a couple of stewards.

"Lightoller? They called me _Lightoller_?" Moody asked aloud to no-one in particular. Sighing, he headed back along the deck, avoiding eye contact with the very same people who had seen him squeal like a girl only a few moments ago.

Approaching the bridge, Wilde barged out, trying to shove a lipstick in his pocket. "Really, Mr Moody? Running down the deck _screaming_?"

"You ... Heard me?" Moody asked softly, lowering his head in shame.

"No, but Mr Fleet in the crow's nest could hear you!" Wilde answered. "They thought a _woman_ was being assaulted!"

"Oh ..."

"That all you can say?" Wilde glared at Moody, who refused to take his eyes off his shoes. "Look, we're already one officer down. Keep it together."

"Okay," Moody replied swiftly, before edging around Wilde and making his way to the Mess Hall, where Lightoller was still in cahoots about Moody's predicament.

"Don't kill me Jimmy!" Lowe cried, as Lightoller smirked, adding the final touches to his painting.

"I won't," Moody smiled, before turning to Lightoller. "Lights, any idea why two steerage passengers thought I was you?"

"No idea, you're not handsome enough," Lightoller joked. Looking up, he added in a serious tone, "What exactly happened?"

"They were in First Class, for a start, so when they seen me they stopped in their tracks. And then they stared at my face, like they were studying the scratch and stuff," Moody began. "Then one of them shouted your name and they both ran away."

Lightoller sat in silence for a minute, staring at his painting, before an idea hit him. "Someone must have told them about what happened to me. Or they heard about it somewhere. Bastards!"

"I bet it was Will," Lowe joked before realising that it very well could have been, and now all three of them were thinking that.

"Aha! The bastard's been hiding in steerage! Of course!" Lightoller concluded as he jumped to his feet and raised his paintbrush in the air like a proud warrior raising his sword.

"Do you think he put them up to coming up here?" Moody questioned, already knowing the answer.

"He must have," Lowe concluded, turning to look at Lightoller, who had a frozen expression of his face that was half hysteria and half awe. "That is actually frightening!"

"At least Herb isn't here," Moody stated as he kicked off his shoes and slumped into a chair. "It's kind of hypnotic though."

Lightoller didn't move an inch, it was almost as though he were afraid that if he moved it would break his chain of thought. Lowe and Moody just stared at his face, failing to notice Pitman sauntering in with an empty teacup. Pitman took one look at Lightoller and dropped the teacup before diving to the floor in fear. It was safe to say that Pitman beat the teacup to the floor.

The sound of the teacup smashing on the floor broke Moody out of his trance. Realising that Pitman had infact seen Lightoller's face, he pulled his jacket off and threw it over Lightoller's head, where it simply sat there as though he were a sculpture waiting to be unveiled.

"Herb, I hid his face," Moody called over to Pitman, who lifted his head up like a nervous deer.

"Thank God, what did you do to him?" Pitman asked with raised eyebrows, gathering himself together and kicking the teacup shards under a chair and out of sight.

"I threw my jacket ov-"

"No, I mean, with his face," Pitman corrected Moody, inspecting Lightoller who was still very still. "It looked like he was frozen."

"We _think_ we found Will," Lowe said quickly, before Moody could open his mouth to speak. "I'm guessing he's planning revenge."

"Hmph, if that's so, I'd hate to see what he'd do to you when he finds out you switched some of the paint sets in the kits," Pitman said coolly.

"Shhhhh! He'll here you and then he'll kill me!" Lowe whispered, flailing his arms. "I don't want to die on the Titanic!"

"Nobody's going to die on Titanic," Moody said instantly, peeking under his jacket to check the expression on Lightoller's face. "No change."

The three of them gathered on the floor in a circle, whispering quietly. Their whispers were broken however, when Lightoller suddenly threw Moody's jacket off of his head and flung it to the floor. All three of them turned round to look at him, and knew right away that this wasn't going to end well.

"Anyone who is _not_ on duty just now will be searching the Third Class with myself," Lightoller ordered, striding out of the mess hall.

"Crap, that's me," Pitman realised, looking terrified.

"You'll be fine," Moody said reassuringly.

Pitman wasn't convinced. Stuck in steeerage with an angry Lightoller looking for an even angrier Murdoch? Right now, Pitman would rather take his chances with that big dog he's so afraid of.


	9. Chapter Nine

**AUTHOR'S NOTE - _Thanks again for all your kind reviews. I struggled with writer's block in Chapter Eight which I have overcome to bring you this next chapter. I decided to put some more Wilde in this chapter, because he hasn't really featured much aside from passing incidents and the odd make-up reference._**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

Wilde was sitting on the bed, sorting through his various stockings and panythose when there was a knock at his door. Stuffing them under his pillow, he opened the door so that only his head was visible. He was wearing his mother's old wedding dress, and didn't want to get caught like last time. Thank God he decided against wearing the veil

"Harry, it's you," Wilde said in a surprised voice.

"Lights and Herb are checking steerage, they think they know where Will's hiding. I thought you should know," Lowe informed him, trying to amend for his earlier mistake of joking about Wilde's make-up.

"Ah, why didn't I think of there? Seems so obvious," Wilde realised with a smile. "Give me a minute to get ready."

Lowe nodded as Wilde closed the door, and started pulling off the musty wedding gown before kicking it under his bed. Pulling his trousers on over some sheer stockings, he looked around and seen that one of his rouge powders had spilled over the floor.

"Oh, that's my favourite!" Wilde moaned, looking at the floor in despair. "It really brought out my cheeks ..."

"Um, what?" Came Lowe's voice from the other side of the door.

Thinking quickly, Wilde called back, "My favourite set of cufflinks are broken!"

"All right," Lowe shouted back, not in the least bit concerned.

Adjusting his tie, Wilde grabbed his jacket and opened his door once more. Frederick Fleet was waiting patiently with Lowe, and he looked surpemely disappointed when Wilde appeared.

"Oh, I was hoping his was wearing a dress," Fleet accidentally said aloud before bolting from the scene as Wilde gave him an angry glare.

Lowe maintained a straight face the entire time, despite wanting to laugh badly at Fleet's comment. He knew better than to laugh in the face of Henry Wilde - well, this time, at least.

"Bloody idiot," Wilde muttered, urging Lowe to follow him.

They made their way to the captain's office, where the man himself was happily talking away to Mr Andrews. He looked mildly surprised to see the two of them standing there.

"I suppose you heard the news about Mr Lightoller temporarily replacing Mr Murdoch?" Mr Andrews asked the two of them, with both of them nodding in reply.

"What brings you here, Mr Wilde?" The captain asked, spinning a coin on the desk.

"Mr Lightoller and Mr Pitman are searching steerage for Mr Murdoch. We believe him to be associating with some passengers," Wilde announced, albeit rather pompously. He was trying to look professional in front of Mr Andrews, after that debacle last night with the purple gown.

Mr Andrews let out a huge sigh of relief as Captain Smith clapped his hands together. Wilde was looking proud of himself, despite the fact that it was Lowe who had alerted to him of this fact.

"I'm surprised Mr Lightoller actually _left_ a painting to go look for him," Lowe sniggered, receiving a glowing smile from the captain.

"Well, that's outstanding news," Mr Andrews beamed, shaking the two officers' hands. "The sooner Mr Murdoch is dealt with, the better."

"Indeed," The captain began. "If you don't have any other duties, I would like the two of you to join Mr Lightoller and Mr Pitman in their search. I'm sure myself, Mr Boxhall and Mr Moody will be just fine for a few hours."

Wilde rubbed his hands togther enthusiastically. "Understood, sir."

* * *

"Wow, so he's apparently been hiding in steerage," Rowe said in complete awe.

"Of all the places he _could_ have hidden," Fleet added.

"I know, it's crazy, right?" Moody asked the group of crew that had assembled at the bridge, seemingly in a random manner. Lookouts Fleet and Lee, alongside wireless operator Phillips, and an off-duty Hichens were discussing the lastest news on the Murdoch front.

"What's crazy is that you scream like a woman!" Fleet joked, nudging Lee in the ribs. Luckily for Fleet, Moody didn't seem to pay much attention to his comment.

"Ow! Hey!" Lee cried angrily, punching Fleet in the shoulder.

"So, what happens now?" Hichens asked.

"I'm assuming Lightoller and that will find him eventually," Phillips suggested, hardly containing his glee. "I _wish_ I could see that!"

"Whit ye uptae?" Boxhall suddenly made an appearance at Rowe's side.

"What's one's this again?" Lee asked Moody, referring to Boxhall's personality change.

"Jock," Moody whispered as Boxhall gave Rowe a set of intrsuctions.

"Right, right. The Scottish one, of course," Lee muttered to Fleet, who was looking very amused.

"_Sensational_, it really is," Hichens grinned. "I am so glad I've been appointed to this ship."

The group laughed as Boxhall finished talking to Rowe, and turned to face them, a serious look on his face.

"Ken that ye dinnae get carried away noo," Boxhall reminded them. "We've all got jobs to dae, right lads?"

"I suppose," Phillips shrugged, still keen to hear more details. "Let me know if they find him, okay?"

"Will do!" Moody answered cheerfully.

"Us too!" Lee piped up.

"Of course, news like that will travel fast anyway," Fleet remarked, as he and Lee left to enjoy the rest of their break.

Phillips left just after them, doing a little dance with his hands in excitement.

"This should be entertaining!" Hichens declared as he too, left the bridge.

Moody looked at Boxhall, who winked at him and stated, "Laddie, this is gonnae be a good afternoon!"

* * *

Pitman cautiously followed Lightoller through the corridors of G-Deck. He was afraid of any sudden movements by Lightoller, and remained a safe distance behind him. On the other hand, Lightoller was alert as a lioness hunting a gazelle, as he listened closely to conversations, many in different languages, and noted each passenger's face.

"Come on, show yourself," Lightoller said through gritted teeth as he willed Murdoch to appear in front of him. But no such luck.

"This is hopeless," Pitman groaned, looking around in desperation. "He could be in someone's room."

Lightoller stopped suddenly, with Pitman walking right into his back. Pitman leapt back, scared that Lightoller would shout at him. However, Lightoller merely hung his head and sighed.

"That thought occurred to me too," Lightoller admitted, sounding defeated. "I hear that the steerage are throwing a party tonight, perhaps we should try then."

"If there's beer and ale and stuff, he'll be there," Pitman said helpfully.

"I'm not giving up though," Lightoller said, adamant that Murdoch will be found by tonight. "If you want to go, you can. I'm seeing this through."

Pitman seemed almost grateful at the suggestion. "I will let the captain know of your plan Lights, perhaps he could help."

"Sounds like a decent plan, thank you," Lightoller smiled, looking at Pitman, who looked utterly relieved. "Oh, and can you do me a favour?"

"What is it?" Pitman asked, desperate to get back to his quarters.

"Can you look out a kit of chicken bathing in apple sauce?"

Pitman looked uttely confused until he realised that Lightoller was talking about a painting kit. "Sure thing."

"Thank you," Lightoller said before disappearing into a throng of Irish passengers.

Pitman scurried back along the corridor, avoiding other passengers. It was such a shame that he didn't realise that Jack was following behind, because he was suddenly hauled into a room, where he was confronted by none other than Murdoch.

"Right, I'm going to make this quick," He began, sitting on a bed in front of Pitman. "I woke up from a nap ten minutes ago. I think I am completely sober - Do you see what's wrong with that?"

Unsure of what to do next, Pitman stared blankly as he forced himself not to cry or run away.

"I thought as much," Murdoch snapped, indicating towards Jack, Tommy and Fabrizio. "I have enlisted these three to help me obtain my alcohol stash. But I need _you_ most of all."

"W-W-Why?" Pitman stammered, shrinking against the door.

"I need you to go to my room and fetch my alcohol, idiot. I'm sober, and I don't like it one bit," Murdoch answered sharply. "I can't go back, otherwise I'll have to face the captain, which I can't be arsed doing."

Pitman slowly nodded, wiping sweat off his forehead. "W-Where's your uniform?"

"No idea," Murdoch replied, scratching his head.

"I shoved it with my belongings, it may come in handy one day," Jack said brightly, pointing towards his bag.

"Enough chatter!" Murdoch barked, as Pitman slumped to the floor and buried his head between his knees, in a case of 'If-I-Can't-See-Him-Then-He-Can't-See-Me'.

"Wow, he really is a shitebag!" Tommy gasped in amazement. "My grandma has bigger bollocks than him!"

"Harsh," Jack noted as he sat down next to Pitman. "You okay buddy?"

"No!" Pitman wailed, refusing to lift his head up.

"Hey Jack, how about you go up with him?" Fabrizio suggested. "Make sure he's okay."

Jack nodded, "Yeah, I probably should. Mr Pitman, what's your first name?"

"H-Herbert," Pitman whispered. "But people c-call me Herb."

"Okay, Herb," Jack began as he stood up, pulling Pitman upright with him. "Let's go get that whiskey!"

Pitman near enough jumped out the door as Jack gave Murdoch a thumbs-up.

"We can do this," Jack urged as he ran behind Pitman, who was determined to get as far away from Murdoch as he possibly could.

* * *

Wilde and Lowe were now also on G-Deck, thinking that Lightoller would still be on one of the above decks. Wilde was in his element, acting almost spy-like as he peered around corners, and hugged the walls, making very careful steps.

Lowe simply followed behind, trying to appear nonchalant. He smiled at passengers, occasionally waved to the odd small child. This was much better, the thought, as he followed Wilde obediently. There were no signs of anyone out to get him.

"Stay down," Wilde commanded, pulling Lowe to the ground with him.

Amongst the passengers, was the unmistakeable officer uniform. However, he couldn't make who it was, and was determined to find out.

"What is it?" Lowe whispered, crouching behind Wilde.

"An officer," Wilde hissed. "I don't know if it's Will, Charlie or Herb."

Lowe tried to peer around Wilde's head. He too could make out the jacket, but the face remained hidden by a portly Swedish man, who was yelling at his wife.

"He's walking with caution," Wilde noted, rising to his feet. "Come on, it'll be too hard to sneak up on him."

Lowe smiled. "Shall we try?"

"Nah, we might frighten the passengers," Wilde dismissed Lowe's idea immediately. "We're supposed to act like normal human beings."

"They might come after us if we scare them," Lowe said quietly. "I hate when people are out to get me."

"No-one is, stop being silly!" Wilde said a little too loudly, as several people looked their way, including the officer.

"Henry! What are _you_ doing here?"

"Charlie! Did you find him?" Wilde called over to the officer, recognising him right away now that the Swedish guy had stormed away from his wife.

Lightoller shook his head. "Going to try the steerage party tonight. I'm staying down here though, I refuse to go back empty-handed."

"I see," Wilde looked at Lightoller, and then to Lowe. "Tell you what, keep Harry with you because I don't see Herb. I guess something scared him away."

"Actually, I let him go. He doesn't like it down here," Lightoller corrected Wilde.

"Oh, you don't say?" Wilde replied sarcastically. "I'm going back up to report to the captain, I trust that you two will find him!"

Wilde barged through the corridor, leaving Lightoller and Lowe standing amongst the passengers, tasked with the difficult job of finding Murdoch. If only they actually bothered to check the rooms, then they would have found him half an hour ago ...


	10. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

Boxhall and Moody were still at the bridge, awaiting instruction from the captain. Bored, they had pulled out some of Lightoller's completed paintings and were now inspecting his work. The many bizarre works of 'art' had them both amazed and confused. Perhaps most perplexing was the fact that some stranger had come up with these ideas for paintings, nevermind Lightoller actually wanting to paint them.

"Is that a giraffe?" Moody asked Boxhall, who looked surprised.

Boxhall laughed at the painting, "Yo, dat feather hat is dope!"

"It's weird. It has a skirt around it's neck aswell," Moody commented, deciding that a painting of a ball floating in beer and being surrounded by cheese and mice was less distrubing.

"You sure he won't mind you two doing that?" Rowe asked.

Boxhall scoffed, "Yo, he ain't here man!"

"Fair enough," Rowe nodded, sighing. "I wonder how long it will be before Mr Murdoch actually appears ..."

"When the alcohol wherever he is runs out I suppose," Moody stated flatly, admiring a picture of a banana in a kilt, complete with a happy smile. "Where does Lights even find these things?"

"Good afternoon gentlemen," Wilde greeted them, slightly out of breath after barging his way up from G-Deck. His discreetly tried to pull up his pantyhose without having to unzip his trousers to fix it. Luckily for him, it went by unnoticed.

"Yo Wilde-Man! What's up?" Boxhall called over to him, as he joined Moody at the banana painting.

Trying to look composed, Wilde explained, "Herb's ran off, so now Charlie and Harry are searching for Will. I don't suppose you've seen any of them?"

Boxhall, Moody and Rowe shook their heads in unison as Wilde sighed disappointedly.

"Yo man, if I see dem I'll holler," Boxhall smiled, before trotting over to a painting of two women dancing on a giant cigarette. "What da fuck?!"

"Want me to look when I get off shift?" Moody asked, running over the Boxhall to see what his exclamation was all about. "Jesus Christ! That is so weird!"

"I'd better go see the captain ..." Wilde trailed as he swiftly left the bridge.

* * *

Pitman and Jack had reached the boat deck, where Pitman had finally slowed into a gentle walk. They made their way along the deck, stopping several feet before the bridge.

"Right, I'll hide, and you get Murdoch's drink," Jack instructed Pitman, who was trying to psych himself up for the task at hand, knowing if he failed, he would have to face Murdoch - angry and sober, which is not a good combination. Every nerve in his body was telling him to run away, but he kept reminding himself that if he didn't do this, he would end up in a fate worse than death.

"Very good," Pitman mumbled, his legs somewhat reluctantly carrying him towards the bridge. He was greeted by Moody and Boxhall, who looked relived to see him.

"We heard you ran off!" Moody exclaimed, showing a small painting of a spider living in an orange to Rowe.

"Fascinating ..." Rowe pelied sarcastically. "I prefer the ones I saw in the mess hall."

Pitman shrugged, "I have to do something lads."

"Weird fellow ..." Rowe muttered as Pitman ran into the Officer's Quarters and into Murdoch's room, where he feverishly began hunting for any alcohol.

Luckily for him, it was an astounding success, finding twelve bottles in total. Throwing them into a bag, he tried to sneak out, but was caught by Boxhall. Pitman felt faint as Boxhall strode over to him purposefully.

"Andares sees no good," Boxhall looked down at the giant sack of alcohol.

"It's a ... trap ... for Murdoch ..." Pitman lied, praying that he wouldn't get caught out.

"A trap! Excellent!" Rowe cried, as he and Moody turned to look. "What is it?"

Moody ran to inspect the bag, "Lure him out with alcohol - like an animal! Well done Herb!"

Pitman grinned slightly as he bolted from the bridge to meet with Jack. "I got it!"

Letting out a loud whoop, Jack patted Pitman on the back, causing him to drop the bag in fright, breaking all but five bottles.

"Will's going to kill me!" Pitman wailed, as it took Jack all his strength and patience to calm him down.

"I'll take the blame, okay? Let's go!"

* * *

Lightoller and Lowe had decided on hiding under a particularly quiet stairwell, hoping Murdoch would just saunter by. It also meant Lowe would be kept out the way of passengers, preventing any further freak-outs.

"If I had known I was going to be down here, I would have brought a kit with me," Lightoller lamented, looking sadly at the floor.

Lowe tried his best not to laugh. Instead, he said, "If you had a brush and paint you could paint the walls ..."

Lightoller burst into laughter, as he pulled three small pots and five brushes from his pocket. Brandishing a brush at Lowe, he smiled, "Come on then!"

Stunned, Lowe took the brush, as he and Lightoller worked with the three colours - red, silver and teal - to create a mural which looked as though a child had painted it. They were finished after an hour, when an angry steward approached them.

"Oi!"

"Whoops," Lightoller laughed as the steward looked between the two of them and the wall.

"Youse are bloody officers!" The steward roared in disgust. "I shall make sure that the White Star Line hears about this!"

"You wouldn't!" Lightoller dared, holding a dripping brush to the steward's throat. "Now, run along now."

The steward did so, though not before making a quick mental description of the officers. Lightoller turned to find Lowe shaking under the stairwell.

"He's after me!" Lowe cried as Lightoller sat next to him.

"Yep ..."

Lowe wailed into his hands as Lightoller did his best to urge him to be quiet to no avail. He had to put up with confused stares from the passengers, who were now wondering what kind of journey they were in for.

"Harry, people are staring! You know what will happen next, right?" Charles hissed, causing Lowe to shudder.

"They'll be after me too!"

Lightoller nodded, "You bet!"

"Why are you being cruel? Are you after me too?!" Lowe cried, looking at Lightoller with sad and scared eyes. He desperately wanted to run away screaming, but knew that if he ran, Lightoller wouldn't be far behind.

"Nah ... I'm just mean when I haven't been near a painting kit in over an hour ..."

* * *

Murdoch grabbed the soaked bag from Pitman as soon as he and Jack walked into the room. He let out a mournful cry as he seen the glass shards from the broken bottles, and gave Pitman an icy glare.

"That was my bad Mr Murdoch, not Herb's," Jack lied, hoping Murdoch would believe him.

He did, and rewarded Jack with a kick to the shin. "My alcohol you _idiot_!"

Jack winced as he rubbed his shin, with Pitman squeezing under one of the beds. Tommy and Fabrizio had risen to their feet, ready to pounce if Murdoch was about to harm jack again. Or Pitman, for that matter. Pulling a random bottle from the bag, he threw himself onto the bed that Pitman was cowering under and began drinking the alcohol with such speed it was almost like inhalation.

"Are we stuck with him?" Tommy asked, looking at Murdoch incredulously.

"Seems so," Jack shrugged.

A small voice came from under the bed, "I'm scared!"

"Shut up Herb you halfwit!" Murdoch barked, finishing one bottle and starting another.

"That's enough!" Jack shouted, "Leave the poor guy alone or I'll find Lightoller!"

Immediately, Murdoch ceased with his ranting and continued drinking, leaving everyone looking incredibly confused.

"Bastardo ..." Fabrizio muttered to Tommy, who laughed heartily.

Shrugging, Tommy whispered back, "He might be a happy drunk."

* * *

"Surely that steerage party starts soon?" Wilde asked Moody, who was avoiding eye contact after another order from Bloomer - trap Wilde in the cargo hold.

"I have no idea, are you planning to go down there?"

Wilde nodded, "I've convinced the captain to let us all go down there. If there are six of us, and one of him ..."

"We'll definitely catch him," Moody smiled, before breaking into a cold sweat.

"James ...?"

Moody turned away from Wilde as Bloomer took hold once again.

"Do. It. Now."

"No Bloomer! Leave me alone!" Moody wailed, putting his hands over his ears and slumping to the ground.

Wilde stared at Moody in sheer amazement. "What on Earth?!"

Moody made an attempt to flee, but was hauled into Wilde's room where he started acting frantically.

"Bloomer wants me to trap you in the cargo hold! And throw you overboard! And stop Lights from painting! If I don't do it he's going to kill me!" James wailed, jumping up and down in despair.

"Who the hell is Bloomer?" Wilde asked pointedly, carefully using his hand to hide a well-used lipstick that was on his desk.

"I've said too much!" Moody realised, his face white and his eyes round with fear. "I have to go!"

Shrugging, Wilde turned to his mirror, and started applying that lipstick.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : _Lol can't believe I made it to Chapter Eleven! This is the first of what I hope will be the renewal of absolute hilarity as the officers attempt to find Murdoch at the steerage party. Of course it all goes belly up in spectalular fashion! And it will run for several chapters! Enjoy, and thanks for your reviews!_**

**sabresrthebest : _Back to my renditions of drunk officers you love so much. Will keep you posted when I update ;)_**

**Thrae Elddim : _Blatant hilarity coming up! Remember what I told you about Pitman? :p_**

**meow139 : _What's not enough? :s_**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

The party in steerage was in full swing by the time Lightoller arrived with Lowe. There were the usual drunken antics of the passengers, and both men couldn't help but smile and feel slightly jealous. Of course they'd rather get drunk than locate and restrain Murdoch, but duty comes first, sadly.

"I bet nobody here would poison my drink," Lowe muttered to Lightoller as they crept down a couple of stares.

Peering across the room, Lightoller sniggered, "I heard you and Herb ran out the smoking room screaming at the top of your lungs."

"Yes ..."

"Relax Harry, no-one is here to get you. This is steerage! They love officers!" Lightoller claimed as a drunk old Spaniard hugged him before stumbling up the last couple of steps. "See what I mean? No snooty First Class passenger would hug you!"

Lowe nodded, "I hope you're right."

"Come on, let's get stuck in!" Lightoller exclaimed as he led Lowe down the stairs into the mass of drunk passengers.

Lightoller politely made his way through the crowds, examining every person he passed by. He turned back to make sure Lowe was still with him before continuing. "He has to be somewhere in here ..."

"For you Mr Officer!"

Lightoller recieved a half-finished pint from a pretty sloshed Englishman who kept slurring his words and falling on top of his friends. Peering into the glass, Lightoller debated finishing it, but instead plumped for dumping it at the nearest table. He decided getting ill or something was simply not worth the risk, although he would have more time in bed to paint. "Better not anyway ..."

"You're not drinking it? He might get you if you don't!" Lowe called, picking up the pint and watching the man fearfully.

"You drink it then if you're so worried!"

Lowe did. The pint was gone within five seconds.

"Feel better?" Lightoller asked, staring at a little boy who kept slapping his father's leg as he ignored him to smoke a cigarette.

Lowe burped before replying, "A little."

Swiping a pint from a table when no-one was looking, Lightoller handed it to him and ordered, "Drink up! It'll help you feel better!"

This continued until Lowe passed out drunk on a table towards the back of the hall. Relieved to be rid of the 'dead weight', Lightoller began scanning the room meticulously. "Show yourself you drunken idiot ..."

* * *

Pitman made the mistake of hiding under an empty table, because he ended up trapped when a group of Dutch passengers sat around out. With his escape routes effectively blocked, he hugged the table leg and closed his eyes, wanting the party to end soon. He both hated and feared Murdoch for bringing him down here. All he wanted was to get back to his room and into bed.

"Ow! Mummy!" Pitman cried when he accidentally got a boot to the thigh from one of the women. Luckily no-one at the table heard him as he wept gently, gripping the table harder than before.

He was kicked again. "Stop it!"

A kind face appeared before him, as the woman looked at him apologetically. She kneeled under the table and smiled. "Sorry. You are okay, yes?"

Pitman shook his head rapidly, "No! I want out of here!"

One of the gentlemen at the group joined the two of them under the table. "Elena, he seems stressed."

Nodding, Elena pulled out a roll-up and lit it, "Here. Take it."

Pitman reluctantly took it from her and stared at it, looking terrified.

"Bert, he won't smoke it," Elena noted, making a smoking gesture with her hand towards Pitman.

"It will help you relax," Bert insisted as Pitman reluctantly took a draw. "Take some more."

Out of fear of these strange people, Pitman continued to smoke it until he had finished it. He was handed a tin, containing at least another twenty, and a lighter.

"You feel better now, yes?" Bert asked as Elena returned to her chair.

Pitman nodded with a goofy grin on his face, "Tastes good."

"Have 'em all Officer. It is good for you," Bert smiled kindly, helping Pitman to his feet.

"Thank you kind man," Pitman smiled, lighting another before walking into the crowds, where he found Lowe still passed out.

Sitting on the table next to him, Pitman continued to puff away, gradually feeling more relaxed. Suddenly nothing seemed to bother him anymore. Well, for the time being anyway ...

* * *

"You had better not start any of this Bloomer nonsense down here!" Wilde warned Moody, pushing past the steerage passengers. They were prevented from going any further by a brawl between a group of Scotsmen, who were arguing over the outcome of a card game.

"I'll look at the bar!" Moody announced, running off and leaving Wilde by himself.

Watching the fight instead of stopping it, he wondered if the men would know of Murdoch's whearabouts. He reckoned he'd have a better chance if he let them continue rather than breaking it up. He didn't have to wait long either, something he was relieved about.

"Take that ye bastard!" One of them men shouted, punching the other out cold.

Applauding his efforts, Wilde approached him carefully, "Excuse me?"

Raising a fist at Wilde, the victor yelled, "You want a taste of the MacLeod Fist?!"

"Oh, my Heavens no!" Wilde insisted, stepping back. "I was looking for someone!"

Taking a pint and a cigarette from his friend, the man introduced himself, "William MacLeod. And who are you supposed tae be?"

"Chief Officer Henry Wilde."

"What can I do for ye, Chief?" William asked as he took a draw from his cigarette.

"I was looking for my colleague, First Officer William Murdoch. Well, he doesn't actually hold that position anymore ... Anyway, I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"I saw a few officers," William replied simply. "What's he look like?"

"Short, fat and Scottish," Wilde answered swiftly.

William shook his head. "Nope. Three were tall. Two were English. One was Welsh. Sorry mate."

Wilde nodded and made a quick exit. He concluded that the man had sighted Moody, Lightoller and Lowe. Sighing, he headed up to the bar, where Moody was downing his sixth pint. Appalled, he decided to scold him.

"James Moody! You are on duty!"

"Bloomer told me too," James slurred, recieving another pint from the barman.

Wilde looked at the barman incredulously, "You're allowing this? He is supposed to be on shift!"

"Is that right? Why are you here then?" The barman retorted, preparing to pour an eighth pint for Moody.

"That's my pint - I mean, point," Moody continued to slur. "Henry Tingle-Tangle-Tingler-Whatever Wilde is an arse!"

Wilde let out a loud groan before warning, "Don't think for one second that the captain won't hear about this."

"Shurrup Henrietta!" James hollered. "Go put on your frock and get drunk with me!"

Wilde scowled as he walked away. He was in sheer disbelief at the behaviour of these men, but of course, he didn't even know that half of it!

* * *

Boxhall was the last officer to arrive at the party, assuming of course that Murdoch was actually there. In full Dr Rosenbaum mode, he attempted to analyse the drunk passengers, determining what kind of drunks they were.

"Happy ... Miserable ... Happy ... Idiot ... Angry ... REALLY angry ..." Boxhall murmured to himself as he sat at a table and watched people stagger by. "Delirious ... Lightweight ... Sarcastic ..."

Boxhall continued this for several minutes until he decided to get up and look for Murdoch. He smiled at the passengers enjoying themselves, relishing the grateful hugs and well-wishes he recieved from them. He concluded that most of these people were infact friendly drunks, and that he had better work on his analysis.

"Joe!"

Boxhall turned around to see Lightoller storm towards him, looking disappointed and angry.

"This is absolute shite!" Lightoller ranted. "Harry's passed out! James is at the bar _completely_ wasted! I want to get drunk instead of looking for this bastard who is most likely drunk himself!"

Boxhall nodded sympathetically, "So you feel that William has ruined your chances for a good night?"

"Damn right!" Lightoller replied indignantly. "Can't believe this is happening to me!"

"You seem wound up," Boxhall concluded. "Have a couple of pints to relax a little, and then continue."

Lightoller frowned as Bert turned around from his table to look at them, "Excuse me? Did I hear you say you need to relax?"

"What of it?" Lightoller asked curtly, folding his arms.

"I gave the other officer cigarettes to relax you," Bert informed him. "He was crying under this table, but the cigarettes helped him."

"Cigarettes?" Boxhall asked. "Wait sir, where are you from?"

"Rotterdam, it is in the Netherlands," Bert answered, lighting up his own 'cigarette'.

"That isn't tobacco," Lightoller hissed. "And the officer sounded like Herb!"

Boxhall smiled, "I guess it is some sort of herbal cigarette then ..."

"James and Will drunk, and now Herb's stoned ... Fantastic!" Lightoller exclaimed sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Murdoch sat with a row of pints in the corner of the room as Tommy and Fabrizio played look out. Jack had left to wander upstairs for fresh air, leaving strict instructions for them.

"My pretties!" Murdoch declared, staring lovingly at his pints. He had already finished the bottles that had survived Pitman's retrieval, and was now hammering the pints as quickly as he could.

"This is going to be a long night," Tommy sighed, looking around him. He spotted Lightoller looking around, but that was about it. He had heard the news that Lowe was passed out somewhere, but wouldn't believe it until he had seen it with his own eyes.

"Shurrup and lemme drink in peace!" Murdoch yelled, trying to remain upright against the wall. He failed. "Shiiiiiit!"

Fabrizio helped him up and handed him another pint. "You okay?"

"Ahhh, precious beer ..."

Shrugging, Fabrizio rejoined Tommy at the table. "I say we give him back."

Tommy looked at Fabrizio before exclaiming, "He's not a faulty watch that you can just return!"

"I know ..." Fabrizio nodded. "Bastardo! Over there!"

Tommy followed Fabrizio's eyeline to Wilde, who was headed towards them. Leaping to the ground, Tommy urged, "Murdoch hide! Officer!"

Doing as he was told, Murdoch crawled raather clumsily under the table, facing the wall. He had taken a couple of his pints, with Tommy pushing the rest over. Taking a seat, he smiled as Wilde stood before him.

"Good evening gentlemen, I was wondering if I could have your assisstance?"

"Indeed you may not!" Tommy replied, sniggering into his pint.

"Excuse me?! I am the Chief Officer!" Wilde bellowed, causing Tommy to burst out laughing.

"Sure you are ... Let me enjoy my pint, would you?"

"You are _pazzo_!" Fabrizio exclaimed, pointing a finger at Wilde.

Wilde sighed before walking away, muttering, "Ignorant bastards ..."

"Close call," Fabrizio commented as he looked down at Murdoch, who had finished all his pints and was keen for more. "I'll go ..."

"How has he not passed out yet?" Tommy asked Fabrizio as he got up to leave.

"I can handle my drink unlike these arses around me ..." Murdoch slurred, pulling himself up onto a chair and resting his head on the table.

"What if someone sees you?" Tommy asked with concern.

"Let 'em try ..."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

At the bar, Moody slid off his stool with a pint in hand. He did a half-dance, half-shuffle type movement as he weaved in between passengers. He kept slurring random remarks aswell, receiving mainly smiles and pints raised to him. Then he began to sing, or at least he thought that was what he was doing. It sounded more like howling.

"Ohhhhhh ... The hamsterrr won't keep me ... doooooowwwwn! Nooooo he woooon't! Down, that isss!"

He got some confused stares as passengers asked each other what a hamster was. Ignoring them, he continued to sing the same lines over and over, getting louder each time. He continued on like this, caught up in his own world, when he was brought back to drunken reality by a man's voice.

"Jimmy!" Pitman called over before giggling hysterically.

Shuffling over, Moody put an arm around him and continued to sing over Pitman's laughter, though it was different and much vulgar lyrics this time.

"Fuuuuck Wiiilde! Fuuuuck Wilde and his mummmmy's dreeeesses!"

Pitman stared at Moody briefy before laughing again. Moody joined in, waving his arms in the air to the tune he made up earlier for his hamster song. Pitman joined in, although his timing was rather off, and he kept chuckling manically.

"Jimmy ... I ... Uh ..." Pitman had clearly smoked too much 'herbal' cigarettes as he struggled to find any words at all. He gave up into another fit of laughter and passed Moody a cigarette, who declined immediately.

"What happened to 'im?" Moody pointed at Lowe, who was snoring loudly.

"... Died ...?"

"He's not dead!" Moody scoffed, poking Lowe's stomach repeatedly. "Dead people don't snore!"

Pitman merely laughed as he lit up again. "Shucks ..."

Moody staggered away, hollering, "I'm outta here!"

He continued through the crowd as before, this time swirling his arms above his head as he sang. His moves caught the attention of a disgruntled Lightoller, who was suddenly looking bewildered Moody.

"James!" Lightoller ran towards him before recoiling at Moody's beer breath. "Dear God man, how many have you had?"

"Not enough Lightsss," Moody slurred, throwing his arms around Lightoller's neck and hugging him. "Herby says Harry's dead!"

"What?!" Lightoller cried, pulling Moody off him. "Where is he?"

Moody grabbed Lightoller's hand and staggered to what he thought was Pitman and Lowe. Turned out to be a table with a young Swedish couple, with their young son asleep on the table.

"Um, James ...?" Lightoller raised an eyebrow, slightly scared by Moody's reaction upon the discovery of the sleeping child.

Throwing his arms into the air, Moody fell to his knees and wailed, "Harrrrryyyy! Not my friend Lord - you bastard!"

"James!" Lightoller cried out in shock, trying to pull him up.

Moody raised an angry fist in the direction of Heaven and continued his tirade, "If you took him because of ... That fuuuucking Bloomer ... Nnnnnghyaaaahhhh!"

Lightoller pulled Moody to his feet and pointed at the sleeping child, "James, that isn't Harry!"

"No ...?"

"That's a little Swedish boy who fell asleep!"

James prodded the young child. "He's dead!"

"James you twat!" Lightoller barked, dragging Moody away from the little boy, who's parents woke up him up just to make sure he wasn't dead.

Moody looked around, utterly confused. He grabbed Lightoller's hand again, and resumed his search, much to Lightoller's dismay.

* * *

Wilde sat on the stairs, fed up with the lack of help and his search proving fruitless for now. He internally debated whether or not to give up and leave Murdoch, hoping he'll appear at some point. "Stuff it, I'm going to bed ..."

"Henry, where yo going, man?"

Turning around, Wilde muttered, "Great, he's Big J now ..."

"Yo dis party only gettin' started, man!"

Wilde stared at Boxhall as he was handed a pint. "Seriously? Getting drunk will magically solve our problems and make Will appear?"

"DRINK IT DOWN, YO!" Boxhall barked right in Wilde's face, who panicked and made quick work of the pint.

"Happy?!"

"I'm not unhappy, man," Boxhall shrugged, leading Wilde back up to the bar.

"Are we having a drink this time?" The barman chuckled, preparing to pour two pints.

Wilde reluctantly nodded as he and Boxhall sat at the bar. He eyed Fabrizio suspiciously as he shuffled away with a tray carrying six pints. "That's peculiar ..."

"Leave him alone, yo!" Boxhall ordered, drinking his pint quickly and urging Wilde to do the same.

It wasn't long before they were drunk too, leaving Lightoller as the only sober officer, who was apparently still getting dragged around by Moody when they arrived at the bar.

"Heeey!" Wilde hollered, wrapping his arm around Lightoller and forcing him onto a bar stool. "Get him a drink! He needs to catch up!"

Lightoller scowled and rose from the stool, "I _need_ to catch William Murdoch, something all of you seem to have forgotten!"

Boxhall merely shrugged as he comforted a sobbing Moody, "Ach, whit happened tae ye?"

"J-J-Jock! Harry's d-dead!" Moody blubbered before wailing into his shoulder.

Both Boxhall and Wilde shared shocked looks before looking to Lightoller for confirmation, who shook his head, "He'll be passed out somehere ..."

"Then drink!" Wilde urged, handing Lightoller a pint, who handed it to Moody.

Lightoller gave each of them men before him a dirty look, and pompously announced, "I'll find him myself! And when the captain asks, I'll tell him you were all either drunk or stoned!"

"Whit?! Who's stoned?!" Boxhall asked, incredibly impressed.

Lightoller groaned and walked away, but not without Moody was was desperate to cling to him, "Oh for crying out loud ..."

* * *

"They can catch me all they want!" Murdoch slurred, slowly removing his clothing and throwing them around extravagantly.

Tommy looked highly amused, glancing around the place to see nearby passengers laughing and raising their glasses at him. "Heh, just as well he didn't pretend to be a first class passenger! They would have had him handed back to the Captain by now!"

Fabrizio on the other hand, looked positively scandalised. He did his best to look away as a sock flew past his ear. "Tommy, what do we do?"

"Laugh!" Tommy shrugged, as a fully-nude Murdoch began downing the pints that were brought over by Fabrizio.

Murdoch pounded a first on the table, "Laugh at me, you bastard?!"

"Oh, shit ..." Tommy muttered, before looking to Fabrizio. "We've angered him!"

"Run!" Fabrizio yelled. "Run!"

The two of them made a hasty exit as Murdoch began throwing pint glasses after them. "Cowards! Come back here and ... Ah stuff it ..."

Looking around, he found Pitman still sitting away on the table, with Lowe slowly coming around from his alcohol-induced coma. He proudly stood before them, a pint in each hand. "Miss me?!"

"Heeeyyyy ..." Pitman breathed, swaying an arm in the air before holding it steady and looking up at it. He soon dropped it, giggling like a small child. "That's funny ..."

"What ... Happened ...?" Lowe muttered, slowly sitting up. He took one look at Will and groaned, "I knew you were after me ..."

"Yesh!" Will exclaimed, drinking both pints at the same time, resulting in beer spilling down his torso. He looked down and tried licking, only to obviously fail and lick the air. "Arrrrgh!"

"Crazy bastard! Stay away from me!" Lowe cried, sliding off the table and running into the crowd, where he ran straight into Lightoller and Moody.

"See! Harry's not dead!" Lightoller announced proudly, forcing Moody to look at him.

All Lowe heard were the words 'Harry' and 'dead', and he was off up the stairs screaming, "The captain lied to me! They _are_ after me!"

Moody's faced paled as he wept onto Lightoller's shoulder. "No! He's dead! That was his ghost! Oh no! I'm going to get haunted again!"

Lightoller let out a huge groan, "And it's back to the bar with you, you drunk moron!"

By this point, Boxhall and Wilde were waltzing with each other, cutting fine shapes in front of the bar. They seemed obvious to Lightoller and Moody, who were both sitting at the bar.

"I give up with you lot," Lightoller sighed, gratefully taking a pint. "You are all animals, the lot of you! You hate my paintings, and when I need to count on you, you all act like idiots!"

Moody wailed into his pint, "No, Harry! Noooooo!"

The barman looked to Lightoller, "What happened to him?"

"Too much beer, he thinks one of our men has passed away when we just seen him alive minutes ago ..."

The barman only nodded before walking away to serve some passengers. Lightoller looked around, and noticed a familiar looking nude man on the stage in the centre of the room, shuffling alongside a chill-out looking officer. Grabbing Moody, Wilde and Boxhall, he triumphantly announced, "I found him! I found the bastard!"

* * *

Pitman slowly twirled around Murdoch, who was still shuffling away, much to the entertainment and amusement of the other passengers. Every so often, Murdoch would look up and flip up his middle finger at random passengers to cheers and applause.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh ..." Pitman sang before bursting into a fit of laughter, collapsing on the floor.

Murdoch took it upon himself to roll on the floor alongside Pitman, shouting out for more booze. However, he was stunned to find a disgusted looking Lightoller glaring down at him after picking up Pitman from the stage.

"Shite!" Murdoch barked, realising he'd been caught. He shot up, and realised every officer besides Lowe had surrounded him. He clumsily got to his feet, staggering backwards into Wilde.

"Keep that fat arse away from me!" He slurred angrily, pushing him towards Moody, who leapt to the ground to avoid getting hit.

Murdoch stumbled forwards, being grabbed on the arm by Boxhall. He violently jerked his arm, causing Boxhall to casually let go.

"What are you men waiting for?!" Lightoller shrieked as Murdoch sniggered and jumped off the stage into a crowd of woman before stumbling through the passengers. "Get him!"

Pitman simply stood and watched as Lightoller chased after Murdoch, who was unfortunately gaining speed. Wilde and Boxhall drunkenly attempted to follow them, bumping in to all sorts of passengers before collasping on the stairs and giving up. Moody lay on the floor and watched as Pitman sparked up again.

"Can I try that Herb?"

* * *

"William McMaster Murdoch get back here!" Lightoller barked as he chased Murdoch through the corridors of steerage. Many passengers shrieked and ran out of the way of them, stunned and disgusted by their behaviour. Determined to stop him, Lightoller pulled several paintbrushes from his pocket and launched them.

Seeing a brush fly out on front of him, Murdoch drunkenly yelled, "Yer painting's shite!"

"They are fabulous!" Lightoller insisted, chasing him up seemingly endless flights of stairs.

"SHITE!"

Lightoller scowled as he realised where they were headed, "Oh Lord no!"

Sure enough, Murdoch had found his way into the Smoking Room, where the gentlemen had been enjoying their cigars and brandy. They were even more stunned when Lightoller leapt on top of Murdoch and declared, "Gotcha!"

Ismay rose to his feet, and shouted over the dumbstruck silence, "Mr Lightoller! What in God's name is going on here?!"


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Lightoller looked up with a scowl and hauled Murdoch to his feet by the scruff of his neck. The men gasped as Murdoch swayed on the spot slightly, let out an audible burp, and promptly passed out sideways on to JJ Astor's table. Lightoller merely kicked him before looking to Ismay, who was red with fury.

"Mr Lightoller, why is Mr Murdoch in a state of undress in the middle of the smoking room?!"

Lightoller replied casually, "He's a drunk Mr Ismay ..."

Folding him arms crossly, Ismay remarked, "Well I think that is quite obvious Mr Lightoller. Pray tell, why are you chasing him around the first class?"

"I tried to catch him sir, but he's surprsingly quick for a drunk," Lightoller replied swiftly, kicking Murdoch again who was out cold. "At least now he's passed out so he can't go anywhere."

"Take him up to his quarters Mr Lightoller," Ismay ordered, giving Murdoch a sour look. "Believe you me, I will be having a word with the captain about all this."

Lightoller nodded and indicated towards a couple of stewards and instructed them, "Take Mr Murdoch back to his room. Do NOT leave him unattended. I shall be going back downstairs to round up the others."

"Others?!" Ismay shrieked, looking appalled. "What 'others'?!"

"Other officers," Lightoller mumbled, not meeting his eye. "They were helping me before Mr Murdoch fled."

"Right," Ismay began, thinking carefully. "Assemble them at the bridge as quickly as possible. I want to nip this issue in the bud tonight, before any more damage is caused. Your fellow officers have already caused a great deal of offence and controversy already."

Lightoller nodded in reply, "Of course Mr Ismay, I will see to it that - Wait? You want to see the officers tonight?!"

"That's what I meant," Ismay stated flatly, before narrowing his eyes at Lightoller, "Oh Christ, what now?"

Lightoller shook his head and bolted from the room, shouting, "Nothing! I'll be back Mr Ismay!"

Ismay scowled, "I'm surrounded by idiots ..."

Lightoller sprinted back through the corridors, wondering how on earth he was going to get each of the men in a sober enough state for Ismay. He was already aware of the state they had gotten themselves into, and was afraid no amount of strong coffee or tossing them into the icy sea would sober them up quick enough. Although, an evil thought had crossed his mind where he could simply bring them before the captain in their current states. Perhaps I will do that after all, he thought as he raced downstairs.

* * *

"Heh heh heh heh ..." Moody laughed to himself as he took another draw from one of Pitman's roll-ups, sitting in such a way that he was almost sprawled luxuriously across the floor. The man himself was lying on the floor, waving his hands above his head and swaying to the music, only at a much slower pace. His eyes were glazed over as he focused on nothing in particular, just the music.

"I ..." Pitman began before he forgot about what he was going to say. Thinking hard, he uttered, "Pickles ...?"

"Pickles sound good," Moody said before laughing at his own sentence.

Pitman rolled onto his front and pulled himself up and sat next to Moody, "I really want to have some cake ..."

"We need some more cigarettes too," Moody said in a quiet whisper. "Because then ... ... Oh shit ..."

Pitman laughed hysterically at him, before spotting Bert and waving lazily to him. Clearly amused, Bert staggered over to them with a pint in his hand and smoking one of his own roll-ups.

"Relaxed, yes?" Bert smiled, waving his pint around in circles, spilling droplets on the floor.

Moody stretched out an arm and pointed leisurely at him, "Are you the cigarette man?"

Bert chuckled, "You need some too my friend?"

Moody nodded and laughed at Bert's Dutch accent. "I need cigarettes ... And ... Pickles!"

Bert pulled out several tins, looking at them before passing over one which had a skull and crossbones scrawled across it in black ink. He placed it into Moody's hand and laughed manically. "They're stronger!"

"Thank you," Moody said as he stared blankly at Bert with his mouth gaping open. He sat this way even as Bert waved them goodbye and staggered back to his own table, where he shared something with his friends before they all looked at the two officers and laughed heartily at them.

Pitman reached out for the tin, "Smoke one each, then food!"

"Where ...?"

Pitman thought for what seemed like an eternity before answering, "Kitchen you idiot. Joughlin loves me."

Moody's eyes widened, "Pickles!"

"Cake!"

Moody quickly lit up one of the roll-ups, completely unaware that they had been laced with a hallucinogenic. He passed the lighter to Pitman, who lit up two at once, resulting in Moody laughing at him, "Greedy bastard!"

"These taste funnier ..." Pitman observed, before shrugging and laughing at the sour look on Moody's face.

"Funnier ..." Moody trailed, before looking to Pitman and laughing at him. It eventually descended into the two of them laughing at each other's laugh for about ten minutes, with Moody rolling on the floor, and Pitman bent over and slapping the ground.

"To ..." Pitman began, trying to find the words. They eventually appeared in his mind after a few seconds, "The kitchens! Rhymes with Hichens!"

* * *

Lowe had made his way frantically to the wheelhouse, where Smith, Ismay, Andrews, Hichens, Phillips and Lee were standing around discussing the officers' bizarre and downright disgraceful behaviour. Rowe was at the wheel, content to listen in to the conversation. They all stopped to look at Lowe, who suddenly paled at the stern expression across the captain's face.

"Lock the doors!" Hichens commanded, darting behind Lowe to lock one side as Phillips rushed to the other.

Lee and Andrews ran to block the escape path into the Officers Quarters as Smith and Ismay rounded on poor Lowe. In a perfect imitation of Munch's painting, 'The Scream', Lowe let out a pained wail and began running around the wheelhouse like a headless chicken, throwing his arms in the air before diving behind the wheel.

Stunned, Rowe peered down at Lowe, commenting, "Bloody hell! He's worse than I've ever seen him!"

"No! Captain please don't kill me!"

"I'm not planning on killing you," Smith told him, appearing at one side of him, and Ismay at the other.

Lowe looked up at the two of them like a petrified rabbit before screaming, "Yes you are! You're out to get me! Let me live captain, for the love of God, please! I don't want to die!"

Smith and Ismay swapped stunned glances as Lowe got onto his knees and clasped his hands in prayer. His words were a combination of a whisper and a slur as the alcohol still hadn't left his bloodstream.

"Is he praying?!" Phillips asked as Hichens and Lee let out loud cackles.

Andrews shook his head sadly, "It would appear so ..."

"This is absolutely _outstanding_!" Lee declared gleefully. "Wait until Freddie hears what he missed!"

"Bride will be so gutted!" Phillips remarked happily. "Well, he did get to witness Mr Pitman running away screaming from a big dog!"

"This is better!" Hichens exclaimed, unable to believe that this was all happening before him.

Lowe looked up as Rowe peered down again at him and smiled. Lowe misread his smile and gasped, "I know that smile! That's your 'I'm Gonna Get Ya' smile!"

Rowe shrugged and looked ahead, muttering, "If you say so Mr Lowe."

Leaping to his feet, Lowe knocked Ismay out of the way, running towards Hichens' side of the wheelhouse where he sucessfully tackled him and brought him to the ground. Smith immediately helped Ismay up as Rowe did his hardest to stifle a snigger.

"Right," Smith announced. "That's me now in possession of two men. Another five to go!"

* * *

Boxhall and Wilde were having a singing contest on the centre stage, each belting out nursery rhymes and lullabies, after being challenged to by a drunk Frenchman who wanted to hear English 'folk songs'. Sadly for him, the officers were too drunk to realise what he meant.

"... And the dish ran away with the spooooooooooon!" Wilde crooned, singing into a pint before downing it in one go.

"My go, man!" Boxhall slurred, crawling into the centre and pushing Wilde out of the way. Looking around, he announced, "Yo dis one is dedicated to yo mommas and poppas!"

A small smattering of applause greeted his announcement, as well as some polite laughter. Clearly, Wilde was more popular than Boxhall, his lastest rendition earning him a standing ovation as he slid along the stage on his backside out of Boxhall's way.

"Yer shite!" Wilde slurred, swiping a pint from an almost- passed out woman who didn't realise half of her clothes were missing.

"SHUT UP BITCH!" Boxhall roared at Wilde, to boos and heckles. He stared in amazement as Wilde pulled on a long brown skirt and wrapped as shawl around his head. They mystery of the clothes thief had been solved.

Wilde scowled and pulled a lipstick out of his pocket, drunkenly smearing it across his lips and lower jaw in large circles. "I'm a pretty little lady. My singing name is Henrietta Tingle!"

With that announcement, the passengers who were paying attention began chanting, "Henrietta! Henrietta! Henrietta!"

Boxhall tossed his hat at a young man who had the audacity to stick his middle finger up at him. He swiftly returned the gesture before looking proudly around the room before catching a glance at a flabbergasted Lightoller. "Crap! Yo Henrietta, it's dat Lightoller dude!"

Wilde's eyes widened as they met with Lightoller's, who couldn't help but guffaw as he inched towards them. "Shite, oh _shite_!"

Lightoller climbed up onto the stage and stood between them, "You two are coming with me now!"

Both men were powerless as Lightoller grabbed them by their ears as they were frog-marched through the drunk passengers. Lightoller recieved a large amount of boos and abuse, with empty pint glasses being tossed in his direction.

"Henrietta! We want Henrietta!"

Lightoller rolled his eyes and shoved the two of them up the stairs, announcing, "You two are in so much trouble unless you sober up!"

Boxhall scowled, "Yo, you not da boss of me!"

"I bloody well am!" Lightoller replied indignantly, yanking at his ear and causing him to yowl in pain.

By the time they arrived at the bridge, Lowe was secured in his own room, with Murdoch still passed out in his. Smith, Ismay and Andrews took one look at the men before shooting Lightoller death glares, who swiftly let go of the two of them and ran for his life, determined to find Moody and Pitman who were now causing chaos in the kitchens ...


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Much to the dismay of Chief Baker Joughlin, Moody was raiding the cupboards and pantries in his quest for pickles. Sadly, he was to he disappointed as his search proved fruitless. He ignored Joughlin's protests as he found the cocktail onions, and threw them into a bowl. He poured a full bottle of white wine over them, mistakingnly believing it to be vinegar.

"My God Officer Moody, just what in Heaven's name are you doing?!" Joughlin cried, watching helplessly as Moody continued to waste onions and wine.

Moody laughed uproariously at the stunned look on the baker's face and whispered, "I'm making pickles ... Shh! Don't tell anyone!"

Joughlin shook his head in disbelief, "Please, Officer ... I will personally have pickles brought to your room if you leave right now!"

"Herb ..."

"Yes, I'll bring herbs too," Joughlin sighed in exasperation. "Rosemary, oregano, basil ... Whatever herbs you want."

Moody shook his head, "No ... Pitman."

Joughlin stared blankly at him, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I've never heard of 'pitman' herbs,"

Moody spun around, surprised to see Santa standing before him. Clearly the hallucinogenic roll-ups were starting to kick in. "Santa ...? Where's Joughlin?"

"Santa?!" Joughlin gasped in amazement. "How drunk are you Officer?"

Moody just laughed him off, carrying his bowl of wine and cocktail onions. He located Pitman heaving a conversation. With cooking utensils, no less.

"... And I agree," Pitman informed a ladle, holding it up at eye level. "Mr Lightoller needs ... Oh ... Whoops ..."

"Herb ...?" Moody asked, looking only mildly confused, his mouth gaping open once more.

Pitman looked up, "James ... I'm talking to Petunia at the moment."

"Petunia," Moody repeated before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"She sounds like our king," Pitman scowled before joining in with his colleague's giggling fit. "She even has blue eyes and lips."

"Santa replaced Joughlin!" Moody gasped in between bouts of giggles before looking down at his bowl. He let out a shriek and dropped it, causing it to smash. "Lava! Lava everywhere!"

Pitman edged away from the wine that was spreading across the floor as Moody clambered onto the counter, and whispered, "Shit ..."

"Lava! Watch out Herb!"

"Petunia says you're a moron!" Pitman called out as he picked up a whisk and held it to his ear to 'listen' to it. "And Mr Bottomswell says you're an imbecile!"

"What the hell?!" Joughlin screeched, arriving at the scene.

"Watch out Mr Joughlin! Lava everywhere!" Moody shouted as he rolled about the counter, trying to fend off imaginary fleas.

Joughlin sighed and muttered to himself, "Hopefully my colleagues will come back with someone to get rid of these crazy bastards ..."

"Mr Bottomswell wants to talk to you Jimmy," Pitman shouted as he launched the whisk at him.

Moody screamed and dove out of the way, "Don't throw swords at me!"

"Mr Bottomswell is not a sword," Pitman mumbled as he picked out a spatula and placed it to his ear. "Oh, hello there Wilma!"

Joughlin quickly assembled several of his bakers and instructed, "I have sent out a team of chefs already to find someone to take these men away. You need to find them, and then find help as quickly as possible or we will have no kitchen!"

"Yes Mr Joughlin!" One of the chefs nodded before the hurried from the kitchen, avoiding Moody hurling grapes around and shouting, "Get them my pretties! Get them!"

* * *

Smith sighed in exasperation at the men sitting before him in the mess hall. Lowe had to be tied down to a chair to prevent him running off, although it didn't stop him from rocking side to side in order to free himself. Boxhall kept chuckling rather evilly at him before closing his eyes and singing softly to himself. Wilde was denied the opportunity to return to his room and change, suffering the indignity of being half-dressed as a woman with the make-up skills of a toddler. Turning to Ismay, Smith asked, "Mr Ismay, can you please keep an eye on them? I'll send some more crew down. I must return to the the bridge, I'd rather not leave Mr Rowe out there by himself."

"Certainly captain, is Mr Murdoch still ...?"

"Passed out in his room? Sadly," Smith sighed in reply before departing for the bridge.

Wilde looked to Ismay and pleaded, "I don't want to be Henrietta anymore! I want to be Henry again, please can I change?"

"Shurrup!" Boxhall hollered, still chuckling away. "Andares knows you'll _always_ be Henrietta!"

Wilde let out a disappointed howl as Lowe crashed to the floor in his chair. He had been rocking a bit too vigourously which caused him to tip over.

"Idiots," Ismay muttered as he went to help Lowe, who's eyes widened in fright as Ismay approached him.

"No don't get me! I didn't mean to fall over!" He insisted somewhat desperately, squeezing his eyes shut as Ismay pushed his chair upright.

Backing away, Ismay remarked, "I'm not out for get you for Christ's sake Mr Lowe!"

"The Captain is!" Lowe cried as he tried to rock the chair again, but failed as Boxhall hung over him. "He wants to kill me!"

"Nobody wants to kill you!"

Lowe refused to believe Ismay's words, "He does!"

"Who does?" Phillips asked as he and Hichens sauntered in. "What did we miss?"

"Nothing," Ismay lied.

Hichens looked at Wilde and let go a huge belly laugh, "This is the best night of my life! Quick, Phillips! Look at Mr Wilde!"

Phillips stared at Wilde in astonishment, "Oh holy shit!"

Ismay shook his head at Phillips and let out an exhausted groan, "Language please, Mr Phillips ..."

"Sorry sir," He apologised sheepishly. "It's all like a weird dream or something."

"I wish it were a dream, believe me," Ismay sighed as Hichens approached Lowe and Boxhall.

"Mr Lowe," He began, a grin on his face. "Why -"

"The captain wants to kill me!" Lowe kept on insisting, looking around the room in fear in case he returned. "I knew he would get the chance to - and now he will!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ismay informed him before letting a long sigh go, praying that Lightoller, Pitman and Moody would be found quickly.

* * *

Lightoller was stunned to find himself accosted by several bakers and chefs. A sudden feeling of impending doom overcame him as he glanced around at their furious expressions. Sighing, he resigned himself to the fact that it would be a long night away from his paintings.

"Officer, are you currently aware of the current state of two of your colleagues?"

Lightoller shook his head, "Are they at least alive?"

"But of course Mr Lightoller!" One of the bakers scoffed, folding his arms and glaring. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Just checking," Lightoller insisted. He motioned for them to lead him down to the kitchens, where the hallucinating officers had gone absolutely crazy.

Moody was cowering in a large sink that was gradually filling with water. He had managed to get a hold of a bottle of cooking sherry and was knocking it back frantically, screaming, "I have the elixer of life! It's mine, no one else's! I'm going to live forever!"

"That'll be right," Lightoller muttered, carefully approaching him. "James, get out of the damn sink for God's sake man!"

Moody shook his head and continued to drink his 'elixer'. He splashed some water at Lightoller and announced, "Leprechaun blood! Bathe in it and become on of us!"

"I don't think so," Lightoller said quietly, dodging the water droplets that were headed his way. "Now come on James! You and Herb need to come back upstairs!"

"But I wanna live forever!" Moody wailed as Lightoller grabbed his wrists and hauled him out of the sink. Still clutching him, he looked around for Pitman, who was sitting on a counter having a group discussion with several utensils.

"Come with me and you will!"

Moody nodded, clinging to Lightoller and warning, "Watch for lava!"

Lightoller rolled his eyes as they walked up to Pitman, who was being observed curiously by Joughlin. Pitman was happily conversing with a couple of spatulas, a smaller whisk, two forks and a bread knife.

"What the ...?"

"I don't even know where to begin," Joughlin began, glancing at Lightoller before turning his attention back to Pitman. "They must have had something strange, they seem so out of sorts. Mr Moody thought I was Santa Clause!"

"You _are_ Santa!" Moody insisted, reaching for the imaginary beard. However Joughlin quickly slapped his hand away.

"Shut it James!" Lightoller barked, before looking to Joughlin. "I am so sorry about all this Mr Joughlin."

He sighed and waved a hand in defeat, "Just get them out of here please."

Still grabbing on to Moody, Lightoller yanked Pitman away, who yelled, "Wait! Anna-Lou Merryweather and Jojo were making valid points!"

* * *

Murdoch woke up slowly with a screaming headache. Groaning, he rose from his bed and crashed to the floor, giving up on movement altogether. "Owww ..."

He lay there for some time, listening to the voices outside his room come and go, until eventually, his door swung open, with Smith and Lightoller standing over him. Too hungover to put up a fight, Murdoch let himself be dragged along to the mess hall by the two of them, where the others awaited.

Moody watched the painting of Murdoch of the unicorn intently, as the colourful background seemed to move. "I'm getting a message from the painting!"

Ismay rolled his eyes, "Oh really, Mr Moody?"

"Yes!" Moody announced before reciting, "If you want to know the secret of being, you will come with us."

"What being?" Lowe asked rather worriedly. "Bloomer? Or someone who wants to get us all?!"

Lightoller groaned and sat at another table, adamant he was innocent in everything. he excitedly pulled out a kit of a guinea pig surfing on a small door. "Finally!"

"Time to get to the bottom of this," Smith announced as he ushered the other crew from the hall, leaving himself, the seven officers, Ismay, and Mr Andrews, who had just joined them. He wanted answers, and this time he was determined to get them.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : _Woo Chapter Fifteen! Thanks to all my readers who keep me going! About the song featured, I had been reading a few fics lately with song lyrics featuring throughout certain chapters, and I thought, "Fuck it, I'll give it a bash.". So I did, with the intention of the song being almost like background music. I got the lyrics online, I remember being taught it in school ten years ago but I could only remember the first two lines! :p_**

**Thrae**** Elddim : _Yet another cliffhanger for you! Love ya too :)_**

**classicmovielover : _No worries about not being able to review, I'm currently preparing to sit my final exams at college so I can go to University next year. Just means you get more to read when you get online ;)_**

**harukahanayami : _I love to surprise! Even I don't understand the process my brain undergoes when I come up with these things :p_**

**meow139 : _Insane officers are fun officers haha. I haven't forgotten about this story, just been busy with exams sadly. Expect more updates over the summer :)_**

**trainette10 : _Thank you! I aim for hilarity ;)_**

**Alexandria'xx : _I love it too, so much that I can't take the movie seriously anymore :)_**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Around the mess hall, all of the officers were behaving in a strange manner. Moody was still reciting 'messages' from the painting of Murdoch riding a unicorn, whereas the man himself was lying on the floor, face down in a plate of sandwiches. Boxhall kept sniggering at random moments, with his personalities changing in between. This was something that caused Lowe a great deal of distress, who kept looking fearfully between him and the captain. Wilde had since resigned himself to the fact that he was 'stuck' as Henrietta, and was now using the back of a dessert spoon to re-apply his lipstick. Weirder than that, Pitman was intent on having a conversation with a jug of water, before drinking it and conducting a funeral service, believing he killed his 'friend' by drinking his contents. Even Lightoller was acting strangely, singing in French as he continued to paint.

_O, je suis une pizza  
Avec du fromage  
Beaucoup de sauce  
Des tomates  
Des onions, des champignons  
Epices melangees  
Je suis une pizza, prete a manger_

Lightoller sang quietly, not paying attention to Andrews, who was standing over his shoulder and watching him paint with interest and slight concern.

Ismay sighed and whispered to Smith, "Is Mr Lightoller singing about being a pizza?"

"I'm afraid so," Smith confirmed, wondering how the hell he was going to speak to his men. "What's terrifying about that is that he is currently the _only_ sober officer ..."

_Je suis une pizza  
Pepperoni  
Pas d'anchois  
Ou "Phoney Balogna"  
Je suis une pizza  
Telephone-moi  
Je suis une pizza, apporte-moi chez toi_

"Pizza ..." Pitman muttered once he had finished conducting the funeral ceremony for the jug of water. He lazily slapped Moody's back and exclaimed, "You need to make a pickle pizza!"

"My pickles turned into lava," Moody reminded him glumly, before adding, "This man on the unicorn knows what I mean. He also says you conducted a beautiful funeral ceremony."

Another goofy grin spread across Pitman's face, "I'll get the priest in second class to perform a mass tomorrow."

Smith stared at Pitman following his suggestion, as the man himself burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles, with Moody inevitably joining in.

_Je suis une pizza  
Du poivron vert  
Je vais du four  
Jusqu'a la boite  
Dans la voiture  
A l'envers  
Je suis une pizza, tombee par terre_

"There's no point in trying to extract information from these men tonight," Andrews concluded, edging away from Lightoller who had begun to sing and paint with gusto. "Let them sleep it off, and we'll question them in the morning."

Smith nodded, "Yes, I think that would be wise. I'll need Mr Lightoller to cover the bridge for a few hours so I can get some sleep. I'll take over for him in the morning before they all wake up."

"Well, I'm off to bed then," Ismay grumbled, hurrying from the mess hall as quickly as he could.

"Good luck getting Mr Lightoller away from his painting," Andrews chortled, as Smith scowled and rolled his eyes.

_J'etais une pizza  
Tresor de la cuisine  
Je suis une pizza  
Tombee en ruine!_

* * *

Every officer got a stern talking to that morning. Wilde was once again reminded to keep his cross-dressing ways to the confines of his room, or even better, in his own home. Murdoch was informed that he was on probation as first officer, much to Lightoller's disappointment. Lightoller himself was told off for not keeping control of the junior officers, and for throwing blue paint at Smith's face when he tried to pull him away from his painting last night. Pitman and Moody were questioned extensively on what substances they had consumed last night, thanks to reports from the harassed kitchen staff early this morning. Neither of them could provide an answer. Finally, Boxhall and Lowe were warned against drinking while on duty, before Smith spent half an hour trying to convince Lowe that once again, he was not after him.

Pitman and Moody were currently hanging around the bridge, with Rowe bombarding them with questions regarding last night, much to their annoyance. Having seen the state of Lowe last night, he was amazed by how out-of-control everyone seemed to get.

"Did you ingest some weird pills? Did you smoke something funny? Is it true Mr Moody that you claimed to have the elixer of life? Mr Pitman, were you talking to inanimate objects."

"Probably. Probably. Yes, I was there. And yes he was," Came Lightoller's curt answer as he emerged from the corridor, holding a cup of strong coffee. He scowled at the two officers and hissed, "What the hell did you two do last night?"

"I ... I don't remember," Pitman admitted honestly, before suddenly remembering something. "There was this guy called Bert. I liked him, he wasn't scary, unlike you ..."

Lightoller narrowed his eyes at Pitman, who whimpered and bolted from view. Sighing, he turned to Moody, "Well?"

"I remember Bert, he gave me this tin of cigarettes," Moody told him quietly, as he pulled the tin from his jacket pocket, which was immediately confiscated. "Hey!"

"Aha! I have the answer right in this tin!" Lightoller announced, pocketing it before taking a gulp of coffee.

"They're mine!" Moody whined as he delved into Lightoller's pocket before his hand was slapped away.

Stepping back, Lightoller insisted, "I confiscated them because they turned the two of you into raving loons! You were in a sink announcing you had the 'elixer of life'. and Herb was talking to spoons! Not to mention that you thought Harry was dead, and that is ghost was lurking in steerage!"

Moody threw his hands up in the air, "I give up! I'm going on my rounds."

Lightoller watched him go before turning to Rowe, "So tell me, how bad was Harry last night? After James said that Harry was dead, he ran away screaming!"

With a cackle, Rowe told Lightoller everything he witnessed last night, including a nude Murdoch being dragged along the deck on his back by a couple of stewards gripping his ankles, not wanting to risk touching anything else.

* * *

Wilde carefully hid away anything that was viewed as women's clothing, although it didn't deter him from wearing fishnet stockings to help control his urges. He reluctantly looked at the alarm clock knowing he had a shift looming shortly. Quickly dusting some light rouge on his cheeks, he strode into the wheelhouse, where Lightoller and Rowe were in hysterics.

"Oh, look - it's Henrietta!" Lightoller announced, pointing gleefully at Wilde while Rowe was almost doubled over the wheel with laughter.

"Might I remind the two of you that I am your superior?" Wilde reminded them huffily, before something ahead caught his eye. "Why is Herb climbing up to the crow's nest?"

Both men followed Wilde's line of vision to see Pitman scurry up to the crows nest, frantically trying to get in. Looking amazed, Rowe exclaimed, "Wow! You chased him all the way up the to the crows nest! And I thought Perkis had seen the best when Mr Pitman was being chased by children!"

"How did you chase him up there?!" Wilde asked incredulously.

Lightoller shrugged, "I looked at him ..."

"You're relieved from duty Mr Lightoller. Go paint to your heart's desire."

Lightoller leapt up in joy, forgetting he had a cup of hot coffee in his hand, which spilled all down his chest. "Aw, shite! It bloody burns like a motherfucker!"

Wilde and Rowe laughed heartily at Lightoller as he ran from the wheelhouse, ripping off his jacket and shirt as he ran to his room, narrowly avoiding Boxhall who wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

"Yo dawg, what the hell?" Boxhall asked, in his Big J persona. "I be trying to get some sleep biatch!"

"Lights spilled coffee down himself," Wilde told him in between bouts of laughter. "It's hilarious because he's a buffoon."

"Damn, I wanted to see that, yo!" Boxhall lamented as his face contorted and he switched to Jock. "Ye see whit ah mean, aye?"

"We do indeed," Rowe sniggered as he faced in front of him once again, deciding that he really should be paying attention to the sea ahead.

"Aye, well, I'm away back tae my bed," Boxhall said, giving them a half-arsed wave before retreating back inside.

"I don't suppose Mr Murdoch or Mr Lowe have surfaced yet?" Wilde enquired as he paced around the wheelhouse, avoiding the spilled coffee. A shake of Rowe's head confirmed his suspicions. "I expected as much ..."

Rowe nodded and said with a sly grin, "They'll appear. Sooner or later, they will ..."

* * *

"Oh for fuck sake! My head!" Murdoch groaned as he shifted in his bed, his head feeling like it was being crushed by a boulder. Grimacing, he sat up, clutching his head in agony. "Why can't I just take a gun to my head and end my pain now?!"

It took him five minutes, and twenty three attempts to get to his feet, although he was swaying rather erratically. Each footstep seemed to sap energy from him as he carelessly flung his robe over his shoulders, letting it hang off his left side. He shuffled into the mess hall, where Lightoller was painting happily, and Lowe was trying to eat breakfast.

"You should be having vodka in your cornflakes, not milk," Murdoch advised Lowe, who's eyes widened. "Here, I'll pour a real breakfast for you."

Lowe watched carefully as Murdoch tipped cornflakes into a couple of bowls, with most of the contents of the box spilling onto the table. Shoving a bowl in front of Lowe and tossing a spoon in his direction, Murdoch pulled a conveniently placed vodka bottle from the pocket of his robe and poured a liberal amount of vodka into the bowls.

"Eat!"

Our of fear and paranoia that Murdoch would be after him if he didn't obey, Lowe forced himself to begin eating. The vodka-conflake mush combination burned his throat, but he reminded himself that it would be better than what Murdoch could do to him. To him, a sore throat was better than a painful death.

"There!" Murdoch exclaimed as he tucked in, concentrating on the taste of the alcohol as opposed to his hangover. "Breakfast of men! Not pansy-arse cornflakes with milk!"

Lowe hurriedly nodded and lied, "Delicious!"

"You're fucking right there!" Murdoch chuckled, watching Lightoller paint before groaning, "Christ Lights, what the hell are you painting now?"

Lightoller called back, "James and this Bloomer hamster thing he keeps banging on about!"

"Noooo don't!" Lowe wailed in between mouthfuls. "Bloomer will get you for that!"

"I'm not afraid of a hamster ghost!" Lightoller scoffed as he pulled out the tin of tampered cigarettes as inspiration came to mind. "I wonder if these will enhance my painting skills ..."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

An hour later it appeared as though Boxhall had given up on trying to get back to sleep. Resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping again until much later, he slouched into the mess hall for a caffeine and sugar fix. The sight that greeted him however, cast doubts over whether or not he would even get that. He gawked at Murdoch and Lowe, who were in a drunken state of hysteria. The two of them were pointing wildly at Lightoller's now finished painting. The finished product? A depection of a large black hamster with red eyes, rather cruelly chomping his way through Moody. The poor officer was hanging out of the hamster's mouth from the waist up. In addition to this, a man remarkably similar to Pitman - mustache and all - was crying in the background, big blue tears dripping from his face in a comic fashion.

Tutting to himself, Boxhall marched over to Lightoller and hissed, "Andares thinks that's horrible!"

Lightoller stared at him blankly, as the hallucinogenic effects of the cigarettes kicked in. "Mr Lincoln, how are you alive and on the Titanic?"

"My name is Andares, not Mr Lincoln," Boxhall corrected him. "Andares thinks you should burn that painting before young James catches sight of it!"

"Burn my painting?!" Lightoller shrieked as Lowe and Murdoch continued to laugh uproariously. "I will not have a dead American president tell me what to do!"

"Lights, what the fuck are you smoking?!" Murdoch asked incredulously. He indicated towards Boxhall and continued, "That's Joe, not Abraham _fucking_ Lincoln!"

"But it is Mr Lincoln!" Lightoller insisted, shielding his finished painting with one hand, and using the other to knock off Lincoln's hat, not realising he was swiping thin air. "And why are you wearing one of Wilde's feather boas? And you have a turtle crawling up your leg!"

Murdoch jumped back in fright, shaking his leg furiously before he realised that there wasn't a turtle at all. Or a feather boa draped around his neck. He scowled as Lowe nudged him and cackled, "You fell for it!"

"Shurrup!" He slurred as Lightoller sat back down to paint a new picture.

Lowe grinned and shouted at random, "Requiem!"

"Oh shite ..." Murdoch groaned before chuckling evilly. "I know where Ismay keeps his brandy stash!"

"But brandy's poison!" Lowe insisted before hurling himself onto Boxhall and screaming, "Requiem!"

"Sorry about them Mr Lincoln," Lightoller apologised sincerely before singing a nursery rhyme to himself.

"Not Twinkle, Twinkle again," Boxhall sighed in Dr Rosenbaum's American accent. "I sense some severe childhood issues here. Charles would make a good case study for that book I'm writing. I should get every one of them in my book actually ..."

Both Lowe and Murdoch crept past the two of them, as Lightoller painted the outline of what appeared to be himself. Murdoch looked to Lowe and whispered, "After we get Ismay's brandy, we'll get Hockley's champagne."

"Requiem!"

* * *

Pitman was cowering on the floor of the crow's nest as Fleet and Lee persisted in winding the poor man up to no end.

"You know Lightoller's going to chase you until you give up. Then he's going to beat you with a cast iron frying pan," Fleet taunted wickedly as Lee sniggered alongside him. "And we'll laugh, of course."

"Stop it! I'm scared of Lights enough as it is!" He wailed in response, burying his face in his hands. "I may _never_ go back down!"

Lee grinned, "Good! You being afraid of everything is entertainment! I just hope Lightoller comes up looking for you!"

"That would be brilliant fun!" Fleet added with sheer delight.

"Stop tormenting me!" Pitman squealed as he looked up at him while wringing his hands. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were red from crying, which failed to put off the relentless lookouts.

"Aw," Lee pouted playfully. "I'm having fun! It can be so boring up here."

"Same!" Fleet chimed in before suggesting to his colleague, "Let's place a call to the bridge and see if we can get Lightoller up here."

In a fit of sheer panic at those words, Pitman leapt to his feat and rang the bell with vigour, forgetting that it would alert the crew at the bridge. Over the ringing, he pleaded, "No! No! Please don't get him up here!"

Lee tore his hand away from the bell rope and laughed, "Someone's going to appear now you've rang the bell! Maybe Lightoller ... Or Wilde ... Or -Oh! Even better ... Murdoch!"

"Nah, he'll climb up a few rungs then pass out," Fleet chuckled as he and Lee watched Pitman run around in very tight circles in front of them due to the lack of space. It was almost like he was twirling.

"What did I do?! Oh mummy, dadddy! What have I done?!"

Fleet giggled as he answered an incoming call from the bridge, "Not to worry sir, Mr Pitman is just being his usual self. He rang the bell in panic because I threatened to send Mr Lightoller up here."

Pitman fell to his knees and let out a mournful cry as Fleet hung up, howling, "I'm going to die!"

"No you're not," Fleet reassured him. "Mr Wilde is going to find someone to help you down."

He nodded before peering over the side as his face drained of colour, "Oh no ... I forgot I hate heights!"

"This will be fun to watch," Lee chortled as they waited for someone to fetch Pitman and bring him back down. Which, at the time being, appeared to be a momentous task.

* * *

Moody burst down the grand staircase with Bloomer's menacing voice following him. He paid no attention to the confused looks the passengers were giving him as he pushed by a couple of stewards.

"His. Painting. Will. Become. True."

"Noooo! Not the unicorn!" Moody yelled, not realising that Bloomer was referring to Lightoller's latest masterpiece. He quickly did a u-turn and sprinted back up the staircase, almost knocking into Colonel Gracie as he tried to outrun the hamster's spirit.

"Officer! Are you alright?" Gracie called after him, but he had already disappeared from his view.

"You. Have. Failed. Me. Repeatedly."

Moody shook his head feverishly as he shot down the boat deck, hurdling the gates at incredible speed, "Leave me alone Bloomer! I'm sorry I killed you!"

"You. Know. What. To. Do." Bloomer growled before his presence evaporated, causing Moody to slow down upon reaching the bridge.

"Ah! Mr Moody, just the man I'm looking for!" Wilde called as he walked over to him. Taking a look at the sweaty, panting mess in standing in front of him, he asked, "Were you racing against the engineers again?"

"No sir," He replied once his breathing had slowed down to a normal rhythm. "It was ... Never mind, forget I said anything."

Wilde raised an eyebrow before requesting, "I need you to do me a favour please. Go up to the crow's nest and bring down Mr Pitman before he causes more trouble."

"Very good sir," Moody nodded, hurrying away from the bridge as fast as his legs could carry him. Little did he know that it would take a _lot_ of convincing for him to get Pitman down ...

Sighing, Wilde decided to do a quick skim of the ship's log when Smith appeared, still looking tired from last night. He greeted the captain as cheerfully as possible, "Good morning sir!"

"Morning Mr Wilde," Smith nodded curtly as he glanced around. "How have my men been so far today?"

"As far as I'm aware, everything appears to be okay. Although, we do have a situation with Mr Pitman ..."

"How so?" Smith asked as he furrowed his brow, watching his chief officer closely.

"It would appear that Mr Pitman gets scared if Mr lightoller so much as looks at him. He's decided to seek refuge in the crow's nest, and I've sent Mr Moody to fetch him so he can be on time for his watch, sir," Wilde answered dutifully and as professionally as he could.

Smith nodded, "That would explain why I am currently seeing Mr Moody struggle up to the crow's nest then ..."

Wilde spun around in time to see Moody lose his footing, clinging on with his hands only as he pulled himself back up. He seemed to stay fixed for a moment in a kind of daze before he powered on up. "_That_ was close! Remind me to never send Mr Moody up there again ..."

"We shouldn't have to be sending officers up to the crow's nest Mr Wilde. _Especially_ in circumstances like this," Smith pointed out.

"Of course sir," Wilde sighed.

Smith smiled at him, "Go take a quick tea break Mr Wilde. You seem to need it."

"Thank you sir," Wilde said appreciatively as he headed for the mess hall, to be greeted with a cloud of smoke. "What the ...?"

Lightoller was almost finished his painting, puffing a cigarette as he did so, while Boxhall was scribbling down observations about his behaviour.

"I wish I was back on the Olympic," Wilde muttered as he set about making a cup of tea for himself.

* * *

"Here we go!" Murdoch announced, looking lovingly into a crate of champagne after he and Lowe had already plundered Ismay's brandy stash before hiding it in the Renault in the cargo hold.

"Yay! Alcohol!" Lowe cheered enthustiastically as the two of them reached in and carried as many as they could to the Renault. Tossing the bottles on the seat, he shouted, "Requiem!"

"I'll requiem you in a minute if you don't fucking stop shouting that!" Murdoch called as he ran to get more champagne before tripping up over his own feet. He shrugged it off and crawled over to the crate, pulling himself up and taking the last of the bottles.

"Requiem!"

Murdoch growled as he crawled back, rolling the bottles along the floor of the cargo hold to Lowe, who tossed them one by one into the car, shouting "Requiem!" each time he did so.

"You boy ..." Murdoch slurred before slumping on to the drivers seat as Lowe clambered into the car itself and closed the door. He handed Murdoch over a bottle of brandy before helping himself to champagne.

Lowe held his bottle up and toasted, "Requiem!"

"It's bad enough you shouted that in everyone's face as we passed by them, without you shouting it every time you do something! What are you going to do, shout requiem next time you go for a piss?!"

Lowe laughed giddily at his rant, "Willie, you're so funny!"

Downing his bottle of brandy and throwing it aside, he chuckled, "Of course I am! I'm funny, and I have the looks! Now pass me another brandy wee man!"

Lowe did so, lounging back on the seat and asking, "Does this car work?"

Letting out a large burp as he finished a second bottle, Murdoch leaned over the steering wheel and looked around. His hand slipped and he thumped his jaw off the wheel. "Bastard!"

"Oh no Willie! Are you okay?" Lowe asked, downing champagne that matched Murdoch's pace.

"Of course I am!" He scoffed indignantly. "Let's drive this son of a bitch!"

"Requiem!"


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : _Apologies for the delay, exams at college means I have less time to write. Hoping you all enjoy the insanity! Incidentally, the "goddess" is supposed to resemble myself :p_**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

"Awww ... It's only Mr Moody," Fleet groaned at his appearance in the crow's nest as Lee was trying to talk Pitman out of jumping over the side, which was a hard ask at the best of times. "That's slightly disappointing. I wanted Mr Lightoller ..."

Moody scowled at him and asked rather wearily, "Have you two been winding up Mr Pitman _again_?"

The man himself looked up to see Moody and flung his arms around him, wailing into his shoulder. "Jimmy! I'm scared! I don't want to die up here, but I don't want to stay up here with these two!"

"You're not going to die Mr Pitman," Lee insisted for the seventh time in as many minutes. He looked at Moody in exasperation, as what had started out as a fun game had turned into frustration as Pitman's irrational fears took over. He wanted to hide away from everything where no-one, and nothing, could terrify him.

"I am! Oh mummy, save me!"

Fleet sniggered at Pitman's cries as Moody shot him a dirty look and ordered, "Mr Fleet, start treating Mr Pitman with compassion instead of entertainment! He's a person for goodness sake! He has fears like everybody else! Like, I'm scared of elephants. Mr Pitman just has more fears than most others, so leave him alone!"

"All right, sorry Mr Moody ..."

"Very good," Moody said before turning to Pitman and tugging his arm. "Come on Herb, I'm here to take you away from these two. You'll be safe with me."

"Lightoller's waiting to kill me because I rang the bell!" Pitman told him, pointing frantically towards the bridge. "Keep him away from me!"

Moody sighed and promised, "I''ll make sure he won't kill you. He's not even on shift, in fact, he's probably worried about you!"

Fleet scoffed and whispered to Lee, "Even I know that's a load of bollocks."

Lee only nodded as they watched Moody coax Pitman out of the crow's nest, after a further five minutes of negotiations. It took them twice as long to climb down, thanks to Pitman's hesitation halfway down. When they eventually reached the forward well deck, both of them let go relieved sighs. Moody raised a hand up at the bridge and gave the thumbs up.

"Come on Herb, you have a shift starting -" Moody began, which was interrupted by a horrible crashing sound coming from the cargo hold. He quickly turned to see Pitman speeding away as fast as his legs could carry him, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Sea monster! Sea monster hit the ship! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

Moody rolled his eyes as he went to investigate what happened before he was ordered to. His jaw dropped as he descended the stairs into the hold. The Renault had rolled over onto it's side after apparently being driven into a large pile of crates. Most of the brandy and champagne bottles had smashed and spilled onto the floor. Murdoch was on his hands and knees, licking and sucking up the alcohol as Lowe rolled around giddily in it, still shouting, "Requiem!"

"What the ...?!" Moody shrieked, taking a couple of cautious steps towards the wreckage. He couldn't believe his eyes, and even went as far to wonder if this was indeed the work of Bloomer, determined to make his life a living hell.

"Requiem!" Lowe shouted before laughing hysterically and licking the spilled alcohol off his hands. Murdoch was clearly a bad influence on the man, abusing his colleagues paranoia much like he abused Pitman's fear of everything.

"Get out of my booze you idiot!" He barked, shoving Lowe across broken bottles so that he could get access to more alcohol for lapping up. "And don't even think about shouting -"

"Requiem!"

Moody groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead, "Why me?! I must be getting punished by Bloomer!"

By this time, Lowe was rolling across the floor of the cargo hold, cackling manically and shouting his favourite phrase over and over. He kept bouncing off of crates and rolling on his side in the opposite direction, kind of similar to a sausage-shaped pinball. He was gaining momentum, despite the broken glass sticking to his uniform and the slight cuts on his face and hands.

"This must be Will getting fired now, surely?" Moody sighed to himself, feeling particularly helpless as Murdoch continued to suck up alcohol from the floor of the hold, and as Lowe kept rolling and shouting his phrase every time he hit an object.

* * *

"Mr Wilde!" Smith called as he thundered into the mess hall, choking on the cigarette smoke as soon as he set foot in the place. Waving away some of the awful-smelling smoke from his face, he roared, "What the bloody hell is going on in here?! What is Mr Lightoller smoking?!"

Wilde shrugged as he drank his tea, watching Lightoller hang up his latest painting, the hallucinogenic cigarettes not having much effect on his artwork. The painting appeared to depict himself as a well-endowed god of sorts, with the other officers bowing down to him as two panthers sat on either side of his throne. Not to mention the depiction of what looked like a goddess at his side, wearing a pink dress associated with Greek goddesses, with blue eyes and flowing black hair. It looked as though she was looking up at him in adoration, as he smiled smugly down at everyone.

"I have no words to even express my disbelief at this ..." Smith uttered as he watched Lightoller skip back to his table, stroking the tea pot and calling it a 'good doggy' before starting work on a new painting.

"Sees tea pot as family pet ... Charles is even more enigmatic than I thought," Boxhall mused to himself as he took down more notes for the Dr Rosenbaum-authored book. "God complex ... Attachment to crockery ... I wonder if that painting, and the size of his penis on that relates to the size of his ego ... Damn, he alone will turn my book into a best seller!"

"Did you need to speak with me sir?" Wilde asked eventually, watching Lightoller paint lazily as he sang God Save The King.

"Yes ..." Smith trailed, bewildered by the sight before him. "I need you to take these two men down to the cargo hold. There was a loud crashing sound that seemed to come from down there, and I need to find out what happened. Mr Moody is already investigating, but I am afraid Mr Pitman ran away screaming about a sea monster."

"Of course he did sir. Shouldn't someone find him? Otherwise he might worry the passengers ..."

"That's a valid point, but I'm afraid that the matter of the noise coming from the cargo hold is a more pressing matter," Smith sighed, scowling as Lightoller lit another cigarette. "Besides, I'd rather Mr Lightoller _didn't_ burn the Officer's Quarters down with these ... Cigarettes ..."

"Very well sir," Wilde nodded before turning to the other two officers. "Mr Lightoller, Mr Boxhall, I need you two to come down to the cargo hold with me right away."

"Yo biatch! I'm tryin' to write my story!" Boxhall excalimed as he switched to Big J upon being addressed by Wilde.

"Mr Boxhall! You will _not_ speak to a member of crew like that again or you will be given a written warning," Smith threatened angrily.

Lightoller looked up at hearing Smith's words and smiled at him, "Sir, if I may ... I like your pharaoh costume. Where can I get one?"

Smith stared at him in disbelief, "What the bloody hell are you talking about Mr Lightoller? Just get down to the cargo hold!"

"Hang on sir, let me get my panthers," He said coolly, taking a draw from his cigarette before whistling on the imaginary giant cats. "Romulus! O'Malley! Come here boys! We're going for a walk!"

"Good luck to you Mr Wilde," Smith began, turning on his heel before realising, "Come to think of it ... I haven't seen Mr Murdoch or Mr Lowe lately ..."

* * *

Pitman had climbed into one of the lifeboats after spending time pulling off the cover, having already managed to swing it out with the help of some crew, telling them it was for a routine check. He was determined to lower himself to the sea in a lifeboat and row back to dry land as quickly as possible, away from scary officers and a possible sea monster.

"Mr Pitman, what _are_ you doing?" Came the voice of Phillips, who was taking a stroll around the boat deck while on a quick break. "You realise it takes _two_ people to lower a lifeboat?"

Pitman stopped what he was doing and looked up at him, "Then help me lower it so I can go back home to England!"

"Wait - you want to _row_ back to England?!"

He nodded hurriedly as he pulled out an oar and swung it around carelessly, "It's either that or get killed by Lights or eaten by a sea monster! You need to jump in and help me lower it!"

"Say I do that," Phillips began, peering down the gap between the lifeboat and the water below. "How do I get back up onto the ship?"

Pitman shrugged, "Climb up the rope, I guess. But then the sea monster would get you!"

"You're safer on the Titanic, Mr Pitman," Phillips reasoned, stepping back incase he was grabbed and pulled into the lifeboat. "Out on the water on that crappy little boat, you'll be an easy target for a sea monster. He'll just need to swim up with his mouth open and he'll swallow both you and the boat whole."

Pitman paled, with Phillips words making sense to him, even if it was over a hypothetical situation. He took one look at the sea before leaping back onto the Titanic and grabbing Phillips, "I don't want to get eaten! No!"

"Then we'll head inside," Phillips suggested helpfully, keen to avoid suffering the embarrassment of Pitman bursting into tears in public. "You'll be safer inside where no monster can get you."

"Okay ..."

"Come on Mr Pitman, we'll grab some food from the mess hall, and you can join myself and Mr Bride, unless you have to work," Phillips said as he started to walk down the deck, with Pitman scampering behind him.

They arrived at the bridge to find the captain drinking a cup of tea, looking rather exasperated. He smiled weakly at the two men and remarked, "Mr Pitman, you're a little late for your watch."

"Sorry sir," He apologised, cowering behind Phillips. "The sea monster scared me!"

"Of course it did Mr Pitman," Smith sighed before giving out his orders as Phillips ducked into the mess hall for food, appearing just as Smith was leaving, carrying a plate of biscuits.

"Biscuit?" Phillips offered, holding the plate out to Pitman, and then to Rowe, who was just about to finish his shift.

"Yes please!" Rowe declared, reaching around for a custard cream. "I love custard creams!"

"I'm more partial to rich tea myself," Phillips chuckled as Pitman grabbed a couple of digestives. "Got to love a good biscuit!"

"Always," Pitman smiled, looking out in front ogf him. "Mr Phillips, the captain asked me to keep an eye on with what's happening down there, but I'm scared the sea monster will appear ..."

"Ah, I'll get Mr Bride to swap places with me and he can keep an eye out for you," Phillips said kindly, just wanting to sit down with his plate of biscuits. "I'm sure he won't mind."

"Thank you," Pitman nodded, taking a bite out of his biscuit. "I hope they kill that monster ..."

* * *

"Fucking English bastards!" Murdoch ranted as Boxhall and Moody pulled him off the floor and away from the alcohol. His arms were flailing wildly and his legs were kicking in all directions as he was dragged along. "You lot need to get your sticks out your arses!"

"Laddie, yer not makin' a lot of sense," Boxhall informed him, making the grave error of unintentionally switching to Jock.

"Oh no, oh no! Don't you start!" Murdoch slurred as Moody fumbled with tying him to the railing at the stairs, as Wilde and Lightoller split up in order to find Lowe who had hit his head off a crate and was passed out unconscious.

Moody groaned as he tied Murdoch up tighter, "Will, you've really gone and done it this time ..."

"He's right, ye know," Boxhall commented, narrowly avoiding getting a kick to the shin as Murdoch swung a leg out. "Laddie, ye cannae keep acting like this!"

"You can't act like a bloody Scot!" Murdoch barked at him, desperately trying to kick him with all of his might. "You're English - the biggest bunch of tea-sipping, pompous, arrogant bastards in the world! So go off and drink your tea and play cricket!"

"You lot aren't much better!" Moody retorted, as Boxhall left to help the other two find Lowe. "You walk around in glorified, patterned skirts! And bagpipes! What the hell kind of instrument are they?!"

"The kind of instrument I'll play at your funeral if you don't shut the fuck up!"

"Found you!" Wilde declared as he found Lowe slumped on the ground in the corner of the hold. He heard footsteps behind as Lightoller and Boxhall ran up behind him.

"Steady boys," Lightoller warned his imaginary panthers as he came to halt before them. Reaching around his jacket pocket, he mumbled, "Now, where are those cigarettes ..."

"Ach, he's knocked oot!" Boxhall observed, relieved not to be subjected to a barrage of insults by Murdoch, who was still arguing with Moody.

"Help me lift him then," Wilde ordered as he grabbed hold of one arm, with Boxhall taking the other. They slipped by Lightoller, who was now fighting with thin air, believing that a middle-Eastern homeless man was trying to steal his panthers.

"What happened to him?" Moody gasped as the men dumped him on the stairs as Murdoch continued his tirade.

"And the Welsh - a nation of men who love their sheep more than they should!" He ranted before nudging Wilde and winking at him. "Know what I mean, Henry?"

Wilde rolled his eyes and turned to Moody and Boxhall, ordering, "Let's get these two ... And Lights, back to the bridge. Let the Captain deal with them because I can't be bothered with this bollocks any more."

"Good idea," Moody sighed as Lightoller climbed up several crates, completely naked and announcing that he was the God of Creation. "I can see Lights getting fired now too ..."


End file.
